


Castle in the Clouds

by ladyptarmigan



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Bickering as a sign of love, F/F, Howl!Sylvanas, Howl's Moving Castle AU, Jaina cleans up the situation literally and metaphorically, Jaina is such a Sophie, Magister Sylvanas, Sophie!Jaina, charming dumbass Sylvanas, that this fic needed to exist, whoops i have accidentally acquired a housekeeper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25677820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyptarmigan/pseuds/ladyptarmigan
Summary: Getting cursed into an eighty year old woman? Living in a castle that scrambled around the countryside on four legs like a living creature? Spending all day doing housework? Jaina could deal with that.Developing feelings for the aggravating, flamboyant, lazy, clever, all-round pain in the neck Magister Sylvanas? Now that was just intolerable.[The Howl's Moving Castle AU]
Relationships: Jaina Proudmoore/Sylvanas Windrunner
Comments: 58
Kudos: 227





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know, my last fic isn't quite done! But i wrote this all in a rush and it keeps taking up space in my brain, so I'm hoping that once it's out I'll be able to finish the last chapter of my other story. I saw [this](https://neutraldisaster.tumblr.com/post/617332105386541056/old-stuff-unfinished-stuff) fanart and my brain latched onto the idea of Jaina as Sophie and wouldn't let go. So, thank you for THIS lolol.

> “More about Howl? Sophie thought desperately. I have to blacken his name! Her mind was such a blank that for a second it actually seemed to her that Howl had no faults at all. How stupid! 'Well, he's fickle, careless, selfish, and hysterical,' she said. 'Half the time I think he doesn't care what happens to anyone as long as he's alright―but then I find out how awfully kind he's been to someone. Then I think he's kind just when it suits him―only then I find out he undercharges poor people. I don't know, Your Majesty. He's a mess.”  
> ― Diana Wynne Jones, Howl's Moving Castle

* * *

Banners flew, lamps were lit with cheery colorful flames, revelers danced along to lively tunes, crowds of people packed into stairwells and alleyways, and Jaina Proudmoore hurried.

She wove through the crowded festival with a bulging rucksack thrown over one shoulder, cursing as merry making locals bumped into her, or stepped backwards onto her foot, or tried to pull her into a dance. She didn’t have time for any of that nonsense. Celebrations involved a great deal of buying and selling, and so were therefore a business matter. Her Mother was expecting her.

Ducking under a string of brightly colored fabric, Jaina turned into an alleyway. The dense crowd was almost impassable, hopefully a side street would be better.

As she turned around the corner of a building she collided face first with a well dressed soldier.

Her sack was knocked askew, papers spilling from the top and scattering around the alley.

“Unbelievable,” Jaina said, scowling, “As if I didn’t have enough problems already.”

“Maybe we could help out, sweetheart,” said a second man, who sported a bushy brown mustache.

The first man threw an arm over her shoulder. “What’s the rush for? It’s a holiday, come see the sights with us!”

Jaina ducked down so the arm slid off her shoulder. “A charming offer, but alas I must decline,” she said, trying very hard not to roll her eyes.

“You’d be prettier if you smiled, you know,” the first man said, eyes growing dark.

She tried not to laugh. That was a comment she’d heard before. Serious Jaina. Drab, grey Jaina, in her heavy dark coats with her books and her too many questions. Despite her disdain for both the comment and the men, she felt a little sliver of alarm. Those two were just drunk enough to cause a commotion, and she had no intention of dirtying her skirts getting into a fight.

As she tried to come up with a response that would extricate herself from this scene, the wind picked up around her ankles and a voice sounded from directly behind her.

“Is that any way to talk to a lady?” said the mysterious speaker, her voice rich, melodic and female.

Jaina whirled, coming face to face with an absurdly well dressed elf.

“Away with you,” she continued, raising a single finger and moving it in a circle.

The men turned in unison and marched away, like marionettes.

Magic. Jaina studied the elven face, heart alight with curiosity all at once. The woman was tall and striking, with long blonde hair and steely grey-blue eyes. She wore a billowy white dress shirt with a deep blue vest over it, inlaid with gold and covered in pins, gold chains, and other bits of jewelry. Over it all was an elaborate, multi-colored coat covered in different shades of green, blue, and gold squares.

“Thank you,” Jaina said cautiously. “And you are…?”

“Sylvanas,” the mage said, dipping into a bow and throwing out an arm. As she straightened she swirled her finger again, the wind gusting through the alley to gather up the scattered papers and deposit them in Jaina’s arms.

She couldn’t help it, she could feel her cheeks going a little red. Jaina wasn’t used to someone directing that level of ostentatious charm at her, of all people. She was too skilled at projecting an air of unavailability, which quickly defeated any flirtatiousness before it started.

Just as she was going to introduce herself, the elf’s focus shifted. Her eyes flicked behind herself, at something that might have been the movement of a shadow.

“I hate to impose, but I could use a small favor. I’ve picked up an unwelcome tail, if you wouldn’t mind helping me lead them somewhere else?” Sylvanas asked, her smile stuck between soft and smirky.

“Alright, as long as we end up at the Tradewind Markethouse off 3rd Street,” Jaina said, trying to sound curt, her heart beating wild in her chest.

“A walk, my lady?” Sylvanas asked, offering out her arm with a flourish.

Jaina couldn’t help but smile as she took it.

* * *

“And then, and then Tandred,” Jaina said, following behind her brother, “She stepped off. Into the sky!”

Tandred hefted the box in his arms up on a shelf. “You’re a lunatic. The most excited I’ve heard you in weeks and it’s about almost having your heart eaten by the Magister Sylvanas.”

“How did you know that’s who it was?”

“Half the city has been talking about her! Not that you’d have noticed. Her castle moves, hidden during the day, but at sunrise and sunset you can see the spires stretching all the way up into the clouds. She’s been parked north of the city for days,” he explained as he picked up another box.

“Well, anyway, she was nothing but polite to me. Eating hearts, really? What bunk.”

“You can laugh, but I’ve heard the stories,” Tandred said with a worried look. “Young women tearing at their hair, crying out into the night, then disappearing forever.”

Jaina tipped back her head and laughed, just once. “Goodness gracious. Can you imagine me beating my chest and sobbing over anyone at all, not to mention some stuck up mage?”

“Now that you mention it, I absolutely can,” Tandred said with a grin, falling against the shelf with his arms raised. He sobbed theatrically, pressing the back of his palm to his forehead.

“Shut up, you lunkhead.”

* * *

She spent the rest of the evening up to her elbows in papers with her fingers covered with ink. She went through ship manifests, looked through newspapers of varying age and reliability, read reports on the trade prices in lands near and far, then compiled her own reports. It was long, arduous work involving a lot of references. Sometimes, she quite liked it. If the subject matter hadn’t been so dull.

It reminded her of her old studies. Searching for common threads, pulling what was important from an excess of information, that was a delight.

This night was not like that. Everything felt boring. Her progress felt slow. When she caught herself fiddling with her necklace for a third time, working a small beaded gem round and round with one finger, she knew it was time to quit.

“Mother, I’m done for the night,” she hollered into the next room.

“So early?” came the dry answer. “Leave the price listings on my desk, would you?”

“Of course,” Jaina said as she slipped on a beige greatcoat and hat to protect against the chill of the night.

She wandered down the street, feeling untethered and discontent. A distraction was what she wanted, but nothing caught her fancy, not shops full of baked goods or dresses or even her favorite bookstore.

Her feet stopped of their own accord in front of a dark, cramped store with a disorganized display of odds and ends. Magical odds and ends.

This was a store for mages.

She put her hand on the doorknob, felt an odd jolt, and decided to go in. Just for fun.

Jaina had been a mage once. Nearly. Well, she’d had a few years of lessons. Then her Father, her older brother, their largest merchant ship, and all their cargo had sunk into the ocean. That had put a stop to her lessons. When the family could afford them again, it had felt too late. Silly. She hadn’t asked to start them again. Or well, she had, but not seriously, she hadn’t pushed, not like she sometimes felt she should have.

It wasn’t their fault. She had never told them how she much missed it.

Her hands moved over chips of minerals and metal and sticks of incense, strands claiming to belong to any number of magical creatures. Her memory filled in information from things she had read, things she remembered. The air seemed to hum with power, with possibility.

The door opened again.

“What a joke,” said a tall, statuesque woman of incomparable beauty. Her hair was dark, her skin an odd bluish-purple hue. She looked down her nose, and when she spoke again seemed to be speaking equally about both Jaina and the contents of the store. “I’m surrounded by cheap knockoffs.”

“Excuse me?” Jaina asked, indignant despite herself.

“You’ve got some nerve, girl,” she said, long elven ears twitching backwards. “Speaking to the Witch of the Waste like that.”

“Who?”

The woman’s hand tightened on her forearm as she scowled. “That’s enough of that. Enjoy your present, you won’t be dispelling it anytime this century. And tell Sylvanas I said hello.”

* * *

Jaina almost screamed. She would have, but she really didn’t want anyone coming into her room to ask what was wrong.

What was wrong was that she was sitting in front of her vanity mirror, ready to start the day, and the face looking back at her was that of an old woman. She poked her cheeks, deeply wrinkled. She looked at her hands, gnarled and pockmarked. She went to stand, and felt her hips and knees creak.

“Good god,” Jaina said to her own, elderly reflection. “Good god, I’ve been cursed.”

* * *

She had the fanciful thought to find Sylvanas and have her fix it, and decided that was the best plan. If she could find her, ask nicely for help (if asking nicely didn’t work then a thin smearing of guilt surely would), and be back before anyone got too worried about her that would be ideal. She hadn’t asked to be pulled into some sort of magician melodrama, and she had nothing to do with whatever strange vendetta was going on between Sylvanas and that dreadful witch.

The worst part was worrying Mother. It wouldn’t take even a day for her family to discover she was gone and start panicking. She’d left a note, saying she was having an emotional crisis and went to stay with friends.

She didn’t really have friends, not close ones anyway, so that would send her and Tandred on quite the wild goose chase. Hopefully they wouldn’t be hurt too badly.

After that, she ate a quick breakfast and set off. Tandred had said Magister Syvlanas’ castle was situated north of the city, and indeed as the sun rose she could see the outline of brilliant minarets in the distance, high towers with spires stretching all the way up into the clouds. That was her destination.

The only problem was she underestimated the difficulty of being old.

Jaina found she had to take frequent breaks, sitting on curbs or benches, and once she was out of the city on any stump or rock she could find. She was constantly out of breath, or sore.

A strange thing happened, though, as she traveled. Her frustration faded.

She liked being able to stop and look around, rather than rushing to her destination. She liked being able to snap at anyone who tried to interfere with her, or sell her things, or ask questions about her eternal soul. A sharp word or an insult sent them all running, and no one had any real venom to spew at an old lady who was just being crotchety.

No one expected an old woman to be polite, or use a deferential tone. No one expected an old woman to be made up, or pretty, or to satisfy any expectations other than her own.

Not such a bad curse at all! If only her knees didn’t ache.

* * *

She walked all day, and as the sun started its journey down the western sky she knew she needed to pick up the pace. Only now, her feet were hurting too.

She looked around for a walking stick, anything that would take a little pressure off her legs as she trudged uphill. It didn’t seem too far to the castle, from what she could recall. But she didn’t want to miss it.

All the branches she saw were too short to be of use, or too flimsy to take her weight. But at the top of the hill, she saw a long branch poking out from between some rocks. It looked sturdy, like a promising walking aid. She went up to it, tugging ineffectually, getting nowhere, before leaning her whole body weight backwards until the stick came free from where it had been lodged.

The stick was not just a stick. It was a long pole, with another branch attached higher up and going lengthwise, attached to a suit jacket and dress pants all stuffed in the manner of a scarecrow. Instead of a normal scarecrow head, though, there was a turnip. A turnip with a face.

It stood upright in front of her without any assistance, bouncing up and down in a happy, jaunty sort of way.

“That is very strange,” Jaina said to herself, staring worriedly at the moving scarecrow with a turnip for a head. “I don’t think I like that at all.”

* * *

The turnip headed scarecrow continued to follow her. This was a worse curse than the first one, she decided.

It hopped away for a few minutes, and came back with a cane. God only knows where the scarecrow had gotten it. She hoped he hadn’t stolen it, but couldn’t bring herself to truly care.

She took it gingerly, wondering how the scarecrow was holding it since it didn’t have any hands. She didn’t want to know that either, she realized, and took it.

“Thank you,” she said haltingly, to the turnip.

* * *

As the sun began to set, she was confident she was in range of the castle. As light began to shift to brilliant colors and fade, she could see the shadows cast by the bulk of the monstrous structure. Now she just needed to find a door, and make her way inside.

The form of the building itself came into view a few minutes later, shimmering into focus like something from a dream. She searched for some way in, and found an entrance on the side of the building a ways off. She would need to hurry before the sun fully set.

Jaina took her cane and rushed forward as much as she could, with her feet wanting to fall off and her knees full of rusty nails. It was a slow journey. Turnip-head bounced along beside her in a creepy pantomime of support. Once he stopped her from toppling forward, and she would have patted his arm in thanks if she had any energy to spare.

When she made it to the stairs, she realized she had another problem. It was high up, there was no way she could pull herself onto the first step when it was several feet in the air. Even as a young woman she might not have had the upper body strength. A mage would probably jump the distance easily with a spell, but she didn’t dare try it.

While she debated, turnip-head tilted down and caught her legs under its arm poles and lifted her towards the first stair. She grabbed on, heaving herself onto the lowest step with tremendous effort.

“Thank you,” she said emphatically this time, and waved at turnip-head as she stood, bracing her hands on her legs.

She made her way up the rest of the stairs, and was surprised to find the door spring open at the first touch of her hand.

Jaina entered slowly, hesitantly, like she was afraid lightning would strike her down or someone would appear to shout at her for trespassing. But no such thing occurred, and she emerged into a large kitchen and living area all centered around an enormous hearth. A fire burned merrily, casting light on an absurd puffy sofa.

The sight was like cool water on a hot day. A sofa! She staggered over to it and sat down next to the fire. Jaina felt so relieved to be sitting comfortably, she hardly noticed that the whole room was covered in grime and dust and a scattered assortment of every type of item, from books to dirty plates to strange knick knacks.

In no time at all, she was asleep.

* * *

She woke to the sound of knocking at the door.

It almost made her groan. She didn’t have a headache, but she felt like she should. The whole rest of her body ached.

She stood in a jerky, terrible heave as the knocking turned into pounding.

“I’m coming, I’m coming already,” she hollered, wondering who could be at the door so early, when the castle was parked in the middle of a field. Where she had entered from, there were no houses for at least a mile or two.

But as she put her hand to the doorknob, a little colored dial spun, moving from green to blue. She opened the door.

A human man in uniform stood at the door. Behind him was a crowded city, decidedly not the place she’d entered from. An anchored multi location portal! Disguised to look like a normal door. Brilliant work. She found herself admiring Sylvanas for a moment, even if the woman was a slob.

“Message for the Magister Sylvanas,” the man said.

“I will take it. The magister is not available.”

“King Terenas formally calls upon Magister Sylvanas for aid during the war, as he has for all mages currently living within Lordaeron’s borders. She is summoned to the palace no later than a week from today.”

“Very well. I will notify her,” Jaina said formally, as she marveled. She was standing in Lordaeron, when a moment ago she had been in Kul Tiras. Amazing.

She shut the door again, trying to figure out how or whether to go about notifying Sylvanas, who still had yet to make an appearance. Besides, that was the sort of thing you might like to have plausible deniability about. Sorry King Terenas, your message has been received by a random vagabond rather than the master of the house.

It struck her again that she was, sort of, living in someone’s home and they had no idea. Perhaps they did know, and didn’t care.

She hoped that was the case, since she was thirsty and getting hungry too. The kitchen was a disaster zone, covered with a mix of dirty and clean utensils, plates on every other surface, and random bits of fruit and cheese of indeterminate age. She wasn’t sure she dared try any of it. The last thing she needed was to get sick from food that was on the outs.

Jaina went back to the couch to sit by the fire while she thought, warming her hands over the crackling flame. Above her, the ceiling was caked in cobwebs.

At least the fire was nice.

“Thank you, little flame,” she said wearily.

“You’re welcome,” the flame replied, a stately female voice that seemed to echo double.

“Gah!” Jaina said in an undignified manner. Did everything around here have to talk? Was she going to have to start worrying about the furniture?

“What are you doing here, cursed girl?”

“Trying to get uncursed, obviously,” Jaina explained to the flame. Not something she ever expected to need to do.

“I see. You don’t want to bother with that spineless lout Sylvanas. I can take care of that for you.”

“Is that so?” Jaina asked, rightfully suspicious of the talking fire. “Just for free? Out of the goodness of your heart?”

“A small favor in return, that’s all. I’m cursed too, bound to Sylvanas and this place. My magic powers this whole castle. Free me, and I’ll free you. Fair is fair.”

“While I appreciate the offer, you are a mysterious fire being, you could be a demon for all I know, and I am a prudent young lady. I know better than to make deals with… whatever you are,” Jaina said, squinting at the fire. “What’s your name? Do you have one? Can you tell me, is there some rule against it?”

“Eyir,” the flame said, seeming to sigh. “You are a troublesome old woman, is what you are. I cannot wait for you to go and trouble Sylvanas instead of me.”

“Not yet. I haven’t had breakfast.”

* * *

She managed to clean off a frying pan, scrounge up a few fresh looking eggs, and cut a slice of hearty bread for herself. After so much walking the day before, the smell of egg frying in the pan was divine.

Eyir complained periodically about being used for cooking, but other than that nothing seemed immediately concerning.

That was, until a familiar voice sounded from behind her.

“It seems there is a stranger in my house,” said that same vibrant voice from two days previous.

Jaina turned to find Sylvanas again. Her heart pounded, her emotions a muddled mess of panic and excitement, all at once she was unsure what to say or do.

All of a sudden she was afraid.

“And who might you be?” Sylvanas asked, seeming to sense her distress.

A stab of hurt wracked her chest. She hadn’t thought she’d need to explain the whole story. She had half assumed Sylvanas would recognize her.

Stupid. She was so stupid. Even if she had looked the same, she wouldn’t be memorable to someone who met far more interesting people all the time, who was requested by Kings and ladies, and had some sort of grudge with the Witch of the Waste. She hadn’t even introduced herself, Sylvanas had changed the subject, and they’d gotten talking soon after.

She’d never given her name. Sylvanas hadn’t asked for it (of course she hadn’t), and then she’d forgotten. And now she looked so different. An old woman, when she had been young the day before. There was no chance.

“I’m your new cleaning lady,” Jaina said.

“What?” Sylvanas asked, head cocked, ears flicking backwards. “And who exactly has hired you?”

“I have hired myself. This place is a goddamn pigsty.”

* * *

Sylvanas stood for several moments looking entirely mystified, then turned back to making breakfast. She watched as Jaina puttered about the room putting things into more organized piles for future cleaning from the corner of her eye, while still trying to go through some semblance of her normal routine.

Jaina watched her back, not sure whether this was really going to work. It would give her time to figure out what to say, at least. Time to learn more about magic, and Sylvanas, and whether she was trustworthy enough to be asked for help. It wouldn’t be time wasted. This place was vile, it made her spine itch. Getting to see the rooms cleaned up would be its own reward.

As she turned to go back up the stairs, Sylvanas cleared her throat like she had something to say, then stalled. “I suppose I don’t care what you do, as long as you don’t go in my rooms.”

“Which ones are those?” Jaina asked as she bustled by with a large, dirty saucepot.

“The first two doors on the right, when you go up the stairs to the third floor.”

Jaina was surprised this whole ‘cleaning lady’ bit had worked. A magister must be far more used to unusual happenings than a normal person (not a surprise, given how much had happened to _her_ ever since they met). Or maybe Sylvanas was kinder than she preferred to let on. The elf hadn’t even mentioned throwing her out, which would have been her own first reaction to finding a stranger in the kitchen first thing in the morning.

When she walked past Sylvanas again, she stuck out a gnarled, wrinkled hand. Sylvanas took it with the delicacy and reverence she would show royalty wearing a strange, chagrined smile.

“You can call me Jaina,” she said. She tried never to make the same mistake twice. “Jaina Proudmoore.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jaina,” Sylvanas said as she brought wizened knuckles to her lips. “Sylvanas Windrunner.”

Jaina laughed, raucous enough it was nearly rude. Bless old age. “Pleased to meet me, are you?”

“I have not yet decided,” Sylvanas said, with a smile that was smaller but perceptibly more genuine.

* * *

Jaina stood in the dirty room, wondering where to even start. It took a few minutes, but her mind started chipping away at the problem: wash the dishes first, clean out some cabinets for them to go in, put the food away when she figured out where they might fit. Then she could tackle the counters. No, the ceiling had to be swept of cobwebs before she could clean any surfaces. Then she could finish with the floor.

She’d forgotten the buildup of ashes in the fireplace. That needed cleared out. The furniture had seen better days, too. And seeing as though the couch was her bed for the time being, perhaps that should be the priority.

Should she ask Sylvanas for a room? There must be guest rooms in this place. She wasn’t sure she dared. Maybe tomorrow.

If Sylvanas couldn’t break her curse, she would be asking for a paycheck.

* * *

“Oh no,” Jaina said, spotting Sylvanas in the kitchen holding a sandwich in both hands, about to take a bite.

“Sun preserve me,” Sylvanas muttered to herself, closing her eyes.

“Use a plate like a civilized adult,” Jaina said, hurrying over to a shelf where she had set some clean ones.

She passed the plate over, which Sylvanas took with considerable hesitance.

“It’s only a sandwich,” she complained, even as she set it down on the plate.

“You’ll get crumbs everywhere.”

“I just open the door and blow them out with some wind once in a while. What’s the point of being a mage if you still have to clean up all the time,” she asked obstinately.

“Ah yes, I can see you’ve been doing that quite frequently,” Jaina said, turning around, looking pointedly at all the cobwebs and debris.

“This is so much better than I ever imagined,” Eyir said from the fireplace.

Sylvanas scowled.

* * *

Sylvanas didn’t dare show her face again until well after dinnertime.

Jaina had finished sweeping the ceiling of cobwebs and dust, and had just decided to save the floors for tomorrow. Her back and hips were aching again and now her shoulders had joined the party. She was not enjoying this particular aspect of old age.

“Jaina,” Sylvanas said from partway up the stairs, “Let me show you to a room.”

She looked up in surprise. She hadn’t even gotten around to asking, and hadn’t expected the courtesy. Some moments, Sylvanas seemed so careless; other times, it felt like a ruse. Who exactly was the person underneath those expensively embroidered robes?

She followed up the stairs slowly, grasping at the railing as her knees protested every step. When they reached the top, Sylvanas opened a door further down the hallway leading into a small bedroom. It was more of a rectangle with a bed and a window than a guest room, but it was blessedly clean and even had a small nightstand with a lamp.

“Thank you,” Jaina said, voice soft. “Thanks, Sylvanas.”

“It’s the least I can do,” the mage said, looking away.

“You’ve even cleaned it up for me,” she continued, so touched that her words were almost free of ridicule.

“How do you know it wasn’t like this before?” Sylvanas asked with a sly grin.

Jaina huffed, “Don’t even try, Sylvanas.”

“Letting me off easy, are you? I didn’t think there was any mercy in those old bones of yours,” Sylvanas said, joking, but with a pointed undertone that made it seem that she’d begun to suspect something.

She didn’t know how she felt about that. She was halfway to trusting the elf. Anyone who’d let themselves be bullied by a stranger who just showed up in their house couldn’t be too bad of a sort. Just in case it was all a scheme, she would wait a little while longer. Better to be prudent. Still, she felt fondness creeping up on her. She would do her best to beat it down, with a bat if necessary.

Feelings, Jaina knew, would be a very bad idea.

* * *

As Jaina swept the floor, Sylvanas conducted business.

She hadn’t realized before, but it was Monday. The start of the business week. In all the cities Sylvanas’ door connected to, clients knocked to request potions or spells or advice. People from all walks of life picked up orders, from nobles to street sweepers. The door had opened on a number of locations all the way from Lordaeron to Quel’thalas. Jaina kept getting distracted listening, so the floor was taking much longer than anticipated.

Sylvanas seemed to find it amusing, grinning at her between customers and making a sweeping motion.

“I was just wondering how you could stay in business charging such silly prices, but now I’ve figured it out,” Jaina called out after the most recent round of pantomimed cleaning.

“You figured it out?” she repeated, leaning against a chair.

“Five silver to help waterproof a whole house, and three coppers for a sleep aid? The ingredients alone cost more,” she exclaimed, waving her broom. “I thought you were just an idiot, but then I heard you charge that Countess ten times what it’s worth for a charm to make her dress shimmer.”

“Do you like my business model, then?” Sylvanas asked with a flourish of her hands.

“Ripping off rich people? Yes,” Jaina said with a mischievous smile.

* * *

“One job left,” Jaina announced to the mostly clean, mostly tidy room.

She went to an alcove with shelves holding a large cast iron dutch oven and picked it up in both arms. The weight was substantial enough she had to shuffle across the floorboards, but before long she had made it to the hearth and sat it down on the edge.

“Sorry Eyir. Into the pot,” she said, reaching out with tongs for the pulsing ember at the heart of the flame.

“You dare!” the flame announced, crackling and shooting out tongues of fire.

Jaina just held the tongs further from her torso, navigating above the pot and dropping the writhing flame inside. She tucked in some branches and a smaller log for fuel. “You’ll like it when I’m done. I don’t want to hear you complaining the whole time.”

“You’re a dreadful witch. I never should have let you inside,” Eyir cursed angrily from the pot.

The hearth was buried in piles and piles of ash. It looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Jaina rolled up her sleeves and readied the ash scraper she’d found hiding under an end table. She’d grabbed some old sheets too, to dump the ash onto. She was as prepared as she could be, but it would still be quite a job.

There was so much soot, even along the edges, that the sheet was full in minutes. She bundled it up, carried it to the door, and shook the lot of it over the threshold.

“Just need to do that, oh, about a dozen more times.”

* * *

Sweeping the last of the ash away revealed the true character of the hearth. It was a work of art with fine, majestic stonework traveling around the edges and up the wall, all surrounding a perfectly smooth grey slab. She’d set up a healthy pile of fresh, dry logs in the center and emptied Eyir on top of them, where the spirit crackled happily.

“Alright. I’ll admit, this is much nicer,” Eyir said, still grumbling but with a conciliatory edge.

“You’re welcome,” Jaina said from the couch, smiling down. She was sweaty and tired, but proud. Her back was damp enough to stick to the couch, and her necklace chafed against the sides of her neck.

“That was very nearly a compliment, Eyir!” Sylvanas said, having just emerged from the doorway. “Someone’s going soft.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be directing any at _you_.”

Jaina laughed happily, turning on the sofa so she could see Sylvanas tapping her boots dry and setting several bags on the counter. She’d been gone on errands for most of the evening. She didn’t go to put anything away, though. She grabbed a clean plate instead and fished through the bags, hunting for something.

“There we are,” she murmured to herself, pulling out a greasy parcel of butcher’s paper. She unwrapped it carefully and dumped the contents on the plate, then strode over to the couch and offered it to Jaina.

“For me?” Jaina said, reaching out tentatively over the back of the couch. Then she looked down. “Did you get fish and chips from Boralus?” she asked with considerable excitement.

Sylvanas nodded. “You’ve worked hard. The room looks nice.”

“Thank you, Sylvanas,” Jaina said, touched, clutching her shirt front with one hand and the plate with the other.

As Jaina started eating, Sylvanas made her way around and sat down next to her. Then she looked over, uncommonly hesitant.

“Understand that I won’t pry, or push. But I was wondering if you were perhaps ready to share why you’ve really come here,” Sylvanas asked, not making eye contact.

Jaina froze, midway through tearing off a bite of fish. She recovered enough to stick a bite in her mouth and think while she chewed.

“You might have noticed. That I seem to be, well, cursed.”

“I had begun to suspect,” she said, with only a little grin. “I assume you would like the curse broken. Who has done it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“The Witch of the Waste,” Jaina answered simply.

One of Sylvanas’ ears flicked back, feather earing twitching with the motion.

* * *

The next day Sylvanas had her come up to her study, one of the two rooms she was forbidden to clean. It was covered with books and half completed projects, as if a hurricane had blown through during the middle of a council of magi meeting. Sylvanas was already behind the desk, her colorful overcoat slung over the back of her chair.

Jaina tried to ignore the mess, sitting primly in a chair across from her.

“I’m going to do a few tests first, to see what I can learn before being influenced by what you tell me. I’ll ask you questions afterward, and then decide if the issue requires more research before I attempt to interfere with the spell.”

She nodded, leaning forward, entranced despite herself. When she spoke about magic, Sylvanas was focused, professional, more engaged than almost any other time. Her eyes were bright, her ears twitched with energy, she even sat up straighter.

Sylvanas raised her hand, the airy white shirt she wore drooping to expose her thin wrists, and something like a tickle raced across her skin. Jaina couldn’t sense much, at first. She shivered, watching as Sylvanas’ eyes narrowed further in concentration. The elf stopped to draw a few runes on a piece of paper and take a note or two, and then Jaina felt the cool breath of arcane enter the room in force.

She couldn’t tell what was happening, just that something was.

Whatever Sylvanas was learning, it wasn’t good. The more time went on, the more she frowned, and the deeper the furrow between her eyebrows got. Eventually she stopped and leaned back, letting out a deep sigh.

“I haven’t discovered much I didn’t already know. You, Jaina Proudmoore, are not an eighty year old woman. And the Witch of the Waste is as vile as she is clever.”

“You knew?” Jaina asked.

Sylvanas nodded. “The curse weakens, sometimes. I don’t know why. I’ll look at you, and the years seem to melt off, bleeding towards middle age, you stoop less, and sometimes there’s the slightest glimpse of something underneath. Like seeing double. Then it’s gone.”

“And there’s no pattern to it?”

“Most often when you are distracted, and having fun. You find insulting me a most invigorating diversion, it seems.”

“Oh no. The curse can only be broken if I keep making fun of you?” Jaina asked, grinning behind her hand.

“I live to serve, my lady,” Sylvanas replied, eyes sparkling. “I confess, I have few other prospects at this time. When she cursed you, did she say anything, any incantation at all? Did she use a wand, have an item in her hand?”

“Nothing. She made a snide comment and then left. I couldn’t feel her cast a spell, and didn’t realize what had happened until the next morning.”

Her ears flicked back at that, and she frowned. “This doesn’t quite add up. The curse is incredibly adaptive and well constructed, but it’s also… shifting, degrading, like something is pushing against it.”

“What could be causing that?” Jaina asked, worried for the first time during this meeting.

“Jaina,” Sylvanas started to ask, then stopped. She seemed hesitant, but also very intense. “Are you a mage?”

The question hit her like a lightning bolt to the chest. It was an aching, shuddering pain, electric and sharp.

“No.” She wasn’t. She wasn’t a mage, and wouldn’t ever be. Being in this place made her dream, made anything seem possible. But not that.

Sylvanas made a ‘hm’ noise and tapped her fingers against the desk.

“If you say so,” she said at last, sounding entirely unconvinced.

* * *

She started on the stairs, next. They needed to be swept free of dirt, the stairs and ceiling both, and there were odds and ends littering the landing as you went up to the second floor, but it wasn’t overwhelming. The wood could have used refinishing, or at least a good oiling, but that was a job for magic, or for someone who didn’t have old woman knees.

It turned out to be a manageable task, taking little more than half a day. When she scrambled down the clean stairs one last time, she found a surprise at the bottom. Sylvanas was in the kitchen, poking at a roast pan with a fork, steam coming from a slab of meat surrounded by carrots and potatoes.

“Come sit,” Sylvanas called to her. “Food is almost served.”

“You made a roast? For lunch?”

“It’ll be dinner too, I expect.”

Jaina sat at the table, rubbing her hands together as Sylvanas reached over her shoulder to set down a heaping plate.

“You live quite the high life in your strange, moving castle.”

“Not typically,” said Sylvanas, grinning as she sat down. “You’ve made me aware of how extreme my bachelor lifestyle has become, I’m afraid.”

“Good,” Jaina said, around a bite of potatoes.

* * *

The other rooms on the second floor were harder. Having to go to the window down the hall, or all the way down the stairs, in order to dump a load of dust or beat a carpet clean was slowing her down. She didn’t mind it though, at least not today.

Today was another market day, where Sylvanas spent the morning in appointments and the evening shopping for groceries and whatever other food struck her fancy. She liked both parts.

Every time she came down the stairs, she would find Sylvanas doing something different. One time she was handing out an odd yellowish powder to a pair of twin boys, all three of them snickering over the prank it was undoubtedly meant for, the next she had an arm around a distraught woman as she pushed a potion into her hands in exchange for a pittance of coppers. Once she was even dancing, heavens knew why, with a strange tall man carrying a lute.

It didn’t matter if her customers were human or elven, a gnome or even the rare, secretive orc. She turned no one away, and treated them all with the same calm friendliness.

Her prices were as erratic as always, almost no charge to the desperate or destitute and comically high for the well-to-do. She even gouged the occasional mizer, who had tried too hard to haggle when it was obvious they had more than they needed.

When she left that afternoon for the market, Jaina found herself just sitting on the stairs, relaxing, wondering what Sylvanas would bring back. She’d tried all sorts of foods she’d never seen before, from cities she’d never set foot in. Part of her wanted to ask if she could go with Sylvanas while she shopped, but she hadn’t dared ask yet.

Even she was surprised by the two enormous drumsticks Sylvanas was holding in one hand when she returned.

“Look at these,” she exclaimed, eyes bright, as soon as she walked in the door.

“What are they?” Jaina asked, impressed despite herself.

Sylvanas waggled them at her. The skins were crispy and brown, wrapping around a huge bulge of well seasoned meat. “The man claimed they were pterrordax legs! An obvious lie. So, who knows?”

Jaina clapped her hands over her mouth as she laughed. “Sylvanas!”

“Come on,” she said as she shucked off her overcoat and headed for the stairs. “I’m bored of eating at the table. It’s a wonderful day, and I want to show you my favorite place in the castle.”

“Alright.” Jaina followed behind her with an obliging grin.

They passed the second floor entirely, and the third. At the fourth floor landing, she took off down the hallway and turned to a normal looking door. One hand hovered on the knob, the other still holding their dinner.

“Look at this,” she said as she opened the door. Then she stepped out onto a narrow but stunning balcony.

The view was beyond belief. Jaina knew they were passing through a mountain range, but seeing it up so high was different. In every direction snowy mountain peaks burst up, their slopes covered in craggy alpine forests leading down to a rushing river, the water having carved out the river valley it was traveling through. The sky was blue and almost cloudless, with the sun painting the whole landscape in golden strokes.

Jaina staggered out beside Sylvanas, hands tight around the railing, her mouth open in wonder. She leaned forward, unable to help herself from peering over the edge, where the legs of the castle shuddered and groaned below them as they moved.

Sylvanas reached over, placing a steadying hand on her lower back. The contact was warm and firm, and her skin prickled at the sensation.

She realized it was the first time Sylvanas had touched her more than just in passing. The first time they met, and this. She seemed so open and friendly, but something about her, something deeper, was set apart from everyone in a way that was difficult to explain. Jaina had noticed that no family member ever came calling, and no close friends either. Sylvanas never discussed it, had never mentioned missing anyone living or dead.

There were the rumors of her womanizing, of course. And Jaina could believe that—Sylvanas was an incredible flirt. But it was obvious none of the relationships were more than that, an enjoyable dalliance that lasted for a week or a month.

Sylvanas offered her a drumstick with the other hand and Jaina took it, still watching both the scenery and the elf.

There was a remote, rich majesty to both of them. Equally untouchable, somehow, those distant towering peaks and Sylvanas, with the wind tousling her hair and her baggy white dress shirt.

She took a bite of the mystery meat. It was just as good as it looked, tender and spicy and thick with flavor. As she chewed, she let it all fall away, all her worries and contemplation. Some moments should simply be enjoyed.

She closed her eyes to focus on the feel of the wind against her face and the flavor of the meat, smiling at the gentle nature sounds of the mountains and the castle below them.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Sylvanas asked, and then looked over just as Jaina opened her eyes to answer. As their gaze met, a shock went through her. Her long ears jolted forward, eyes intent and focused in the space of a single moment.

Jaina wanted to say ‘ _yes, it is wonderful’_. She wanted to say thank you, for the food, for showing this place to her, for everything, but the words froze in her throat under the weight of that stare. It was as if Sylvanas had never seen her before.

Her mind stumbled over the explanation a minute later as she realized that she was standing straight—as if her back had never stooped at all, as if her hips didn’t burn and grind when she walked, as if her knees could carry her all day without complaint. She looked down at her hand where she gripped the railing, and for a single second she saw the fingers of a young woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, y'all should come see me on [tumblr](https://ladyptarmigan.tumblr.com/)!!!!


	2. Chapter 2

After that, Sylvanas would come visit and interrupt her while she worked. Not all the time, but two or three times a day she would show up and prod around the room while Jaina cleaned. She’d start a silly conversation, or they’d tell each other how their days had been even though they lived in the same place and mostly already knew.

By the time she finished the second floor, Sylvanas would even help clean. Just a little bit, vanishing a dead plant or blowing some dust out a window. Still, she found herself impressed.

With extra help, the thought of starting the third floor was a little less daunting.

* * *

Jaina stood in a library. An incredible, majestic library, filled with tomes of all ages and descriptions, a library she might have conjured up in a dream. That is, if most of the room wasn’t covered in dust and cobwebs. That is, if the books weren’t totally disorganized, sitting in piles or crammed on shelves with no discernable order or organization. That is, if it wasn’t an utter disaster.

“This is terrible!” Jaina exclaimed to the empty room. “This is… this is—Sylvanas!”

Her lips pursed, her nostrils flared with the force of a tremendous huff. This kind of disrespect for books was just unconscionable.

She strode from the room in full fury.

* * *

“I’m in the middle of something delicate, if you don’t mind,” said Sylvanas, sitting slouched over some gems and herbs laid out on a table.

“Have you seen the library?”

“Have I seen the… of course I’ve seen it. It’s my library.”

“The state of your library is an abomination,” Jaina said, arms waving as if the word ‘abomination’ wasn’t emphatic enough if she didn’t use her entire body to highlight it.

“Really, Jaina?” Sylvanas said, in the tone one would use on a child having a tantrum.

“Covered in dust, everything thrown about randomly, it’s… it’s criminal!”

“Criminal?” Sylvanas said, turning towards her, chest huffing with chuckles she knew enough to keep quiet. One ear twitched, the small silver hoops and long feather jangling brightly.

“A crime! You should—you should be in jail!”

At that Sylvanas began to laugh in earnest—she couldn’t help it. Her whole body shook, her head tipped backwards to thunk against the chair. “Of all the things I could be arrested for!” she exclaimed, before going back to full-throated, joyous laughter.

Jaina couldn’t help but smile, so she made sure to turn away. She never could manage to stay mad at the flamboyant elf, goddess knew why. Everything seemed to brush right off her, but not in a callous way, not like all the men who had gotten defensive or impatient with her sharp edges and tried to make her feel small. Rather than getting defensive or pulling out a knife, Sylvanas would choose joy. Anytime she could, she would choose lightness or fun. There was something to be said for that.

She refused to be charmed. At least, she refused to be visibly charmed. She huffed and crossed her arms and stalked off down the hallway, but by the time she made it back to the library she was laughing too.

* * *

Jaina sat in front of the hearth, chin resting on her criss-crossed fingers.

“What,” said Eyir. “Don’t tell me you have more annoying questions for me?”

“If you would just answer them, this wouldn’t be necessary,” Jaina replied primly.

“If a being bound as I am could just blab about their nature and the conditions of their imprisonment, the spell would hardly be worth performing would it?”

“You aren’t a spectre or a wraith. You don’t seem undead at all, though I can’t rule it out. I thought you might be an elemental but that doesn’t quite make sense either. It feels like you had a life, before this.” Jaina used all of her self restraint in not making her last statement a question.

“I did,” Eyir shocked her by answering. The words were mournful, despite the sharp, flat tone.

“You’re a person, and this isn’t fair. I’m going to… I’m going to figure this out, alright?”

“Decided to take me up on my offer after all?” Eyir asked, sounding just enough affected by Jaina’s resolve to want to change the topic.

“Not like that!”

“You should. It’s obvious by now Sylvanas doesn’t have the ability to break your curse.”

“I’ll break my own curse, thank you very much.”

Eyir laughed, and the sound was a perfect balance of skepticism and admiration.

* * *

“I see we’ll be ‘cleaning’ the library for the foreseeable future,” Sylvanas purred, air quoting with dramatic flair.

Jaina jolted upright from where she’d been slouched over a book. The armchair she sat in was entirely too comfortable—plush and large, with two nice pillows to arrange for maximum comfort. She couldn’t believe Sylvanas had let a wonderful place like this get into such poor shape.

“I’m taking my lunch break,” Jaina said with a grin.

Sylvanas looked down at her wrist for an imaginary watch. “That’s strange. It seems closer to dinner time.”

“Perhaps I am on strike for better working conditions.”

“Please, let it be true!” she said with a bright laugh.

“You won’t get away that easy. It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen so many interesting books,” Jaina said, enthusiasm getting away from her.

“And what are you reading today?” Sylvanas said, wandering over to the armchair. “Theory and Modern Practice of Second Level Transmogrification?”

“I’ve always wanted a fashion forward outfit that could still keep me warm in winter.”

“Really? Goodness.” Sylvanas shook her head, staring in disbelief at the tome, looking bored just from the title. Then one of her eyebrows darted up. “And you claim not to be a mage?”

“I never said I didn’t have magic. I’m just… not a mage.”

“You can cast spells. You have power, and not just a little power. Do you think I can’t tell that you would make a formidable spellcaster, should you set your mind to it?” Sylvanas’ eyes were piercing and direct, the whole of her more present than normal.

She didn’t want to talk about this. For all the years it had been, the wound was still raw. And yet, Sylvanas was so clearly motivated by interest, by belief, by an uncommon investment of focus and she so dearly wanted to be the focus of that interest she couldn’t rebuff her as harshly as she wished to.

“What does that matter, if I don’t know how to use it? I had a few years of lessons when I was young, that’s all,” she said, trying to sound matter of fact but only managing something brittle and bitter

“What happened to them? Your lessons,” Sylvanas asked, the intensity dying away as she attempted to be sensitive.

“Poverty happened to my lessons, Sylvanas,” Jaina answered, the words tired and lifeless.

“That’s absurd,” Sylvanas said definitively. As if destitution was something that only happened to other people, as if you could ward it off by being special, destined. “No teacher worth their salt would let a talent like yours disappear. Mages are too useful, the crown will sponsor them for light's sake.”

Jaina tried to calm herself, rubbing at the chain of her necklace where it disappeared below her neckline. It was obvious this was something Sylvanas could not understand. She had always been influential and strong and beautiful.

“A plain, bookish preteen girl from a middle class family who is very good at their lessons is not a prodigy. They’re a know-it-all. Annoying. Not… gifted,” she said, as soft as she could.

Sylvanas looked enraged, overcome. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She wanted to argue, but could tell Jaina was telling the truth. Her fingers dug into the arm of the chair hard enough to whiten her already pale knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” was all she said, finally.

Jaina just nodded. “Me too.”

* * *

As it turned out, the library was indeed slow going.

“You can’t sort by field of practice, Jaina. There are too many cross disciplinary texts, it just makes a mess.”

“So you’ve devolved to the ‘stacks of things I’m thinking about at the same time’ organizational method?” Jaina asked, half joking and half exasperated.

“Well, yes,” Sylvanas said sheepishly.

The two of them stood in the middle of several piles of books, sitting both on the floor and covering three tables, all dusted and ready to be reshelved. Where they should be shelved _to_ was the sticking point. Jaina felt she had been quite courteous in even asking what organizational scheme Sylvanas would like. It was obvious she didn’t deserve this darling collection.

Arguing about the topic was almost twice as fun as cleaning though, so she would allow it. Arguing was actually so much fun that not much had been decided over the course of an hour long conversation.

“By author, then,” Jaina said, “Or, age of publication? There’s real merit to keeping books within the same schools of thought, influenced by the era they were written, all together.”

“I could see that,” Sylvanas murmured, eyes narrowed in thought. “I can’t remember author names for shite. But I have many elven texts, and our history is too long. There would be too many sections.”

“Oh,” Jaina said, hand fluttering to her mouth, “Of course. I should have known. Elven history is just, it’s so much _longer_ and more _complex_ than those shorter lived races. We couldn’t possibly…” she burst into giggles as Sylvanas raced to an armchair, picked up a pillow, and flung it at her.

It struck her soundly in the face.

“You deserved that,” Sylvanas said.

“I did!” Jaina nodded, still laughing. “You can’t hide the truth, Sylvanas. Be as bohemian and open minded as you like, bury it as deep as you can, I can sense there’s still a snooty elf in there.”

Sylvanas just groaned. “Don’t make me throw another pillow.”

“Abusing your poor, downtrodden human servant, are you?”

“I didn’t even hire you,” she exclaimed in mock outrage. “You’ve decided to serve me of your own volition. What does that say about you, Jaina Proudmoore? Do you have some… _appetites_ you haven’t disclosed?”

“Sylvanas,” Jaina spluttered as she felt her face go red.

“That wasn’t even a denial! Who knew. I mean, I’d heard what they say about old ladies, but…”

That time it was Sylvanas who was interrupted by a pillow thrown full force at her head.

* * *

Several days later, Jaina received an unsettling message. Sylvanas had been having such a bad day to that point (something about her dress robes being incorrectly laundered? She hadn’t asked), she hadn’t wanted to add to it by bringing up such a serious topic. Then, the next day, she’d forgotten.

Sylvanas wandering down the hall in a bright purple ruffled blouse triggered her memory for some reason, and she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Oh, Sylvanas, wait,” she called down the hall, arms full of laundry.

“Yes?” she asked, pausing halfway through the doorway to her study.

“All the other times a Kingdom tried to call on you, I just took the messages and ignored them. It was obvious you’d been giving them the runaround, and I don’t blame you. It’s not as if you can fight on every side of the war for three different monarchs,” Jaina said, speaking a little too quickly from nervousness. “But this time one came from, well, from Quel’thalas.”

“A summons from Quel’thalas?” Sylvanas said, looking blank.

“A summons from King Anasterian. For this Friday. It seemed pretty serious, they threatened to court-marshall you, or something about your citizenship. I assumed that Quel'thalas is… where you’re from? Anyway, that you would want to know.”

There was silence for a long time. Jaina just waited, watching as the smallest changes made their way across Sylvanas’ face. She knew it was bad when those long elven ears didn’t so much as twitch.

“I hate this war,” she said at last.

Jaina startled at the change in topic, and wasn’t sure how to respond to the sudden vehemence.

“Prince Kael’thas disappeared a few years ago. The last trace of him was in Lordaeron, and the investigation rumpled feathers there. It ignited a whole slew of old grievances, petty nonsense about trade terms and territory boundaries and who can use what river. Defensive alliances pulled half the continent into the mess,” Sylvanas said, practically vibrating with tension. “Let me tell you something, Jaina, something that isn’t well known outside of Quel'thalas.”

Jaina just nodded, still shocked.

“Kael’thas,” Sylvanas spat out, “Is an idiot. He could have spelled himself to the bottom of the ocean by accident. He could have decided there was ancient treasure at the top of Mount Neverest and gotten frozen to the peak by the tails of his most fashionable robes—which he would have worn, just in case it became a historic occasion. I highly doubt King Terenas had anything to do with it, and even if he did the rest of the country sure didn’t.”

Sylvanas had begun to pace, just inside the doorway. “How many people have to die for that? How many?”

“Sylvanas,” Jaina said, starting slowly. “I’m sure you could get out of fighting without losing your place in Quel’thalas. Tell them you’ll find the Prince, but won’t participate in the war. Tell them you’ll help, but only as a noncombatant. You have options.”

She looked searchingly at Jaina, face frozen again. “I can’t go.”

“You can’t go? To, to the meeting?”

Sylvanas nodded.

“Why?” Jaina asked, more confused than when she started.

“My mother will be there.”

Jaina’s eyes squeezed shut, and she counted up slowly to five. “You cannot answer a summons from King Anasterian because your mother will be there?”

Sylvanas did not respond to that charming inquiry.

“Alright. Alright,” Jaina muttered, more for her own sanity. She reminded herself to focus on the problem at hand. “I could go? In your place. I’ll claim to be… a healer, overseeing your care since you fell into a magic coma? A client, who has sent you on a long term mission to a faraway land?”

That got her a huffed laugh, but she shook her head.

“Your apprentice?”

Sylvanas stopped. “An apprentice would be allowed to represent me,” she said with a contemplative but fierce scowl.

* * *

“You aren’t going without protection,” Sylvanas said as she pushed Jaina into her study.

“I’m going to a meeting, not a battlefield.” She sighed a bit as she sat in the chair across from the desk, not admitting that she was touched by how much Sylvanas was fretting on her behalf.

“You’re going to a battlefield that also happens to be a meeting.”

“Your Mother is really so terrifying?” Jaina asked, one eyebrow going up.

“Yes,” Sylvanas replied flatly. “You need some protective charms, and a hearthstone. At the least. I can’t give you rings, the curse affects your hands too much. They might fall off. A bracelet? A necklace?”

Jaina wasn’t sure if any of this was directed at her. It seemed like Sylvanas was just thinking out loud.

“That necklace you’re always wearing, I could add some spells to that, but it feels magical. It might interfere with other spells. Can I see it?”

“Sure,” Jaina said, digging for the chain where it disappeared beneath her shirt. She pulled it out, tugging a little as some of the little gems and beads got stuck, until it was resting on top of her clothing rather than below.

“What in the world is that?” Sylvanas asked, reaching out to touch one of the shorter strands and jerking back as soon as she had.

“I was told they were mana storage crystals,” she said, feeling nervous. Sylvanas was so touchy about how she’d stopped learning magic, she didn’t want to get into it if it was going to lead to more agonized pacing and searching looks.

“Why are you wearing garbage mana gems on a necklace?”

“Are they? I mean, they only got it for me to fiddle with.”

Sylvanas gave her an intense, searching look and didn’t respond.

Drat. Jaina hadn’t wanted that to start up again. She hurried to explain further. “I was so used to using magic every day, it made me feel a bit itchy to stop. One of my old instructors gave it to me, said I could feed some power into it when I felt stuffed, or uncomfortable. Then it just became a habit. It’s like knitting.”

Now Sylvanas looked angry. Very angry, in fact, angrier than she had ever seen her.

“Sylvanas. It’s fine.” She let her voice go snappish and authoritative. If it seemed like it would start a confrontation, Sylvanas would normally give it up.

“I could kill them. It’s fine?” she muttered, long ears twitching so hard her earrings jangled. Then she seemed to gather herself. “Anyway. Those crystals are overflowing with power. They’re such bad quality it would be near impossible to draw it back out again for anything, though, so it won’t affect any other jewelry I give you. I can hardly believe you managed to fill so many of them. It’s like using a water hose on a pinhole.”

“That’s what made it relaxing,” Jaina said, shrugging. You could try to use a small stream of magic, like threading a needle, or apply so much pressure it pushed through, depending on how distracted you wanted to be. She’d passed many boring meetings that way.

Not that Sylvanas seemed to find that a relaxing thought. “I am keying a hearthstone. I am not thinking about… any of that right now,” she said under her breath.

* * *

“Are you sure about this?” Sylvanas asked.

Jaina just nodded, shifting from foot to foot nervously. She was bundled up in a scarf and her old greatcoat, in case the meeting took so long she had to go back through the city after dark. Another benefit was that there were many pockets in her greatcoat, so she could stash things like snacks, and the small book she’d brought in case they made her wait for too long.

By this point, Sylvanas’ anxiety had spread to her. Of course she wasn’t sure, but she would do it anyway.

“I have a means of escape, if I need it. You’ve slathered me in protective charms. I’m as safe as can be,” she replied, trying to convince herself just as much as her companion.

Sylvanas reached over to straighten her scarf. The contact felt domestic, almost intimate. The elf rolled the fabric of the scarf between her slender fingers, trying to neaten the fabric, moving the knot so it sat cleanly between bulky lapels. When she couldn’t keep hold of the scarf any longer without it seeming odd, she let her hands drift up to tug the collar side to side as if to straighten it, but without practical effect.

By the time she finished, Jaina could feel her face burning. Her neck tingled and her scalp prickled with shocks of electricity; it was only that it had been so long since someone had touched her (she hoped that was it, anyhow), but now she wanted to feel those hands other places. It wasn’t sex, nothing like that. Just hands on her face, or through her hair. For someone to touch the bare skin of her waist, or her shoulder. A hug, even.

It didn’t help that Sylvanas didn’t seem to want to let go of her either. She tugged at the scarf again, the motion equal parts fretful and affectionate. Jaina smiled and squeezed her elbow in reply.

“No matter what you do, nothing is going to make this outfit any more suitable for a royal audience,” she said, trying to joke.

That got a laugh. “It’s terrible,” Sylvanas croaked out. “They’d throw you out if you were there for anyone else.”

“I’ll be alright, Sylvanas,” Jaina said, trying to project as much calmness as she could.

Sylvanas just breathed out, long and slow.

* * *

Guards met her at the entrance to the palace and escorted her inside. Every step deeper she went into the ornate, winding halls made her sicker and sicker to her stomach. Something was telling her this had been a bad idea.

Everything in the place was ancient and indescribably beautiful, and Jaina felt like she was going to lose her lunch.

She stopped dead in her tracks, and the guards stopped with her.

“I apologize. Could I use a washroom before the meeting?”

* * *

Jaina looked at herself in the mirror, splashing water in her old woman's face. She hoped it would calm her down, or shock her system, or something.

She went to the bathroom too, for good measure. As she flushed the toilet, she wondered if a backup plan wouldn’t be a bad idea. She reached a hand out over the toilet bowl, thinking she was an idiot, and cast a spell.

A water elemental emerged. Not a large one, but its pointed face and sloping form made her smile.

“Hello, old friend,” Jaina said. “Sorry to call you to a… place like this. But I’ll feel better if I have you around somewhere. Next time, I’ll make it nicer. A lake, or the ocean. All right?”

The water elemental didn’t respond in any way, but Jaina thought it seemed to approve.

* * *

The guards brought her into an ornate, beautifully constructed chamber that was obviously not the throne room. It was too small (small being relative), and lacked a raised platform, or any sort of seating that would accommodate large audiences. In fact, there was seating for only two people in the whole room.

There was a finely carved table in the exact center of the space, with two chairs at opposite sides. One chair was empty. The other chair contained an elven woman, one old enough to have streaks of grey at her temples and faint lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her dark hair was a fierce contrast to the golden trim of her ceremonial but still intimidating armor.

Jaina had seen enough military uniform in her life to recognize ceremonial dress.

The woman stood as Jaina came closer, reaching out a hand. The human greeting was appreciated, even though she’d tried to read up she still wasn’t very confident with elven courtesies, especially for high ranking people. She’d been expecting the King, but this obviously wasn’t him.

“Ranger General Lireesa Windrunner,” the woman said as she took Jaina’s hand. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Ranger General? _Ranger General Lireesa Windrunner?_ Sylvanas’ mother was the most important and highest ranking military figure in Quel’thalas? That was the sort of thing you warned people about.

Jaina swore fiercely in her mind and counted down from five.

“I’m Jaina Proudmoore. Sylvanas’ apprentice. Please to,” she stumbled, just a little, “I’m pleased to meet you as well.”

“Of course. Please, sit,” the Ranger General said, motioning at the table.

She now saw there was a teapot and two cups sitting off to the side. Oh, this was wonderful. Just a delight. Tea with Sylvanas’ mother.

Jaina sat. “I hope you’ll pardon me for asking, but it seems like you are not King Anasterian,” she said, finally getting her bearings. She knew if she kept acting cowed the whole time this woman would crush her like a sandwich under a tauren.

“Do you want me to go get him instead?” Lireesa drawled out.

“No,” Jaina forced out. This was bad. She was so fucked.

“Good. I’m eager to… chat. Since Sylvanas won’t see me, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard how she’s doing.” The words were very hard.

She was trying her best to be aloof, to be above the emotional nature of what they were discussing, but Jaina knew Sylvanas well enough to project that body language onto Lireesa. The cracks were there. The stillness was a little too pronounced to be real harshness or indifference. She wished she had any idea what had happened between them, but she felt as frustrated and adrift as this woman probably did.

“That isn’t an easy question to answer,” Jaina said, reaching for a cup of tea and wrapping her hands around the warm porcelain. “I’m sure you’ll find it difficult to believe, but I have just as much trouble getting any real information out of her as anyone.”

“She lets you live in that shambling fortress with her, she teaches you magic, surely she must speak to you?” Lireesa’s tone made it clear she was being begrudgingly humored.

“Let me? Oh no. I stumbled inside then fell asleep on her couch, and she couldn’t be bothered to throw me out in the morning. It’s true that we talk, but as soon as a conversation might require revealing information about herself she mostly changes the subject or disappears.”

“That sounds familiar,” she said, with a flash of a grin.

“She did tell me she couldn’t attend this meeting because her mother would be there. She did not however explain that her mother would be there because she was in charge of Quel’thalas’ military.”

“Quite an oversight.”

“I had that same thought myself, only when I had it there was a lot more swearing.”

Lireesa grinned, in earnest this time. “Oh no. I like you, and I don’t enjoy it when I have to threaten people I like.”

Jaina felt her stomach freeze itself to the rest of her insides. She fought hard to bury the sensation, she knew this wasn’t the time for weakness.

“Ranger General. We both know Sylvanas isn’t going to fight for you. She spends most of her time undercharging poor people for potion crafting and changing her outfit, not exactly a battlemage. What do you hope to achieve here?”

“And you? You seem made of sterner stuff. Why shouldn’t you assist in the war effort? If we had ten of Sylvanas the blasted thing would have been done twice over by now.”

It did not escape Jaina that Lireesa had dodged the question. “I’m afraid I have only just started my magical studies. Lots of reading books, lots of warnings about not killing yourself with portals, or fire, or high level spellcasting.”

“You seem a little old to be just starting your magical studies,” Lireesa said skeptically, looking her up and down.

“I had to clean the castle first. It’s been ages, and I’m still only half done.”

“Why would it take ages? You’re Sylvanas’ apprentice, aren’t you? Simple chores are some of the most basic magic there is,” the Ranger General said, eyes boring into her like twin spears.

“Ah,” Jaina said as the breath left her lungs. “Sylvanas required it to be done by hand. To, prove my resolve.”

Lireesa looked at her for a moment, then erupted into shoulder-shaking gales of laughter. “Sylvanas? Prove with… cleaning?” she bit out, around guffaws. She had to put down her cup so she didn’t spill.

Jaina’s hands tightened around her teacup, then she sighed. “Not my best effort, I admit.”

“By the sun,” Lireesa said, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “I have to thank you. That’s the hardest I’ve laughed in years.”

“I’m glad I can provide entertainment, at least,” she said, the strangeness of sitting in front of this older, intense mirror of Sylvanas washing over her. Despite herself, she wanted Lireesa to like her. Wanted to get to know the woman, found her harsh edges and seriousness a pleasant reminder of her own mother.

In different circumstances, they might have gotten along. Still, her instincts knew she was seated across from a predator.

“She really hates me so much?” Lireesa said, not looking at Jaina at all, achingly sincere all at once. “To send _you_ , so she wouldn’t have to see me?”

“She hates the war,” Jaina said in a rush, sure of that at least. “Not you.”

“I am the Ranger General of Quel’thalas. So, what? She hates the occupation in which I have spent my entire adult life, and the legacy of her own family?”

The look on Lireesa’s face was a chasm, a stoicism deeper than grief.

“Something isn’t right,” Jaina said, fiddling with her necklace, jaw tightening with resolve. “With Sylvanas. How she acts, the things she’s told me, the castle, there’s something vital I’m missing. Some piece that is out of place.”

As she went on, Lireesa looked her up and down, shocked, like she had never noticed what she looked like before. Something unnameable churned in hard, almost familiar grey eyes.

“Until that’s figured out, until that stuck thing comes unstuck, there is no way to… reach her,” Jaina said, thinking of the woman who had become so dear to her. One of the greatest mages alive, living in piles of dirt and trash, draped in an unsettling apathy. “But I will, I swear to you. If it’s possible at all, I’m going to do it.”

“I’m afraid, my dear,” said Lireesa with real regret. “That you won’t.” She raised a hand where it rested against the arm of the chair.

Two guards entered the room wearing dramatic plate armor. They had tall tower shields in one hand and wicked looking double bladed swords in the other. All at once, Lireesa’s plan became clear. Sylvanas had been right not to come here. They would have captured her, or anyone who could be used to force her compliance.

Jaina recognized the guards immediately, from descriptions in books.These were elven Spellbreakers, and if she let them get close to her, if she engaged them at all, she would be killed or taken captive beyond the reach of any magic. She couldn’t attack them directly, either. It wouldn’t work.

She reached up to her necklace, where the hearthstone was tied. Then she activated the spell inside and waited. One second, then two, and nothing happened. Something was blocking long range teleportation, something she would have to get away from. Sylvanas thought she had a method around the protections here, but something must be wrong. Hopefully, it was the spellbreakers themselves. Maybe it was the palace grounds.

She had no choice but to try and escape. She didn’t intend to put Sylvanas in the position of needing to leave her behind and captive, or sacrifice herself to work for the crown.

No, she would get out of this herself. Somehow.

Jaina stood in a rush, a spell dancing at the forefront of her mind. She drained power into the framework she had drawn, and water rose up from the carpet at her feet, churning, tickling her ankles. The salty smell of the sea filled the room as the water level rose.

The spellbreakers rushed towards her, but a wave now waist high buffeted them back. Lireesa took the force of it against an arm, looking a moment from shouting something at her.

She didn’t let herself lose focus. This was a distraction.

Feeling with her magic, she sensed the water elemental still tied to her. Working quickly, she wove a spell to switch their places, heart pounding as the spellbreakers made it to their feet and began some counterspell that was drying the ground around them.

Even as the room disappeared, she knew it wasn’t over yet.

* * *

The bathroom from earlier came into focus around her.

She tried to ignore her headache, and decided to sit and get her bearings. Just for a moment. Collapsing boneless down on the toilet seat, she let herself count to ten. She’d been doing a lot of counting today.

She needed a plan. She needed a way out. She was stuck sitting on a toilet, trapped in a royal palace. What had her life become?

When the hearthstone failed a second time, Jaina knew her only option was to run.

* * *

She made it down a hall, and through a complex series of rooms before being stopped.

“Hello, little mouse,” said a tall, dark haired elf in magister robes. His voice was chilling. Two elven guards stood at his left and right sides, not spellbreakers this time thankfully, but well armed rangers nonetheless.

Jaina knew her situation had gone from ‘bad’ to ‘profoundly fucked’. “Can’t you people just leave me alone?”

“Oh don’t worry. I don’t want to capture you. I don’t care what game the King and the Ranger General are trying to play. You’re going to deliver a message for me.”

Before she could snarl some Kul Tiran curses at the man, her throat sealed shut and she was lifted several feet into the air.

“Sylvanas did something very regrettable. She stole from _me_. But I’m not going to get my own hands dirty, no no. The Witch of the Wastes hates her just as much as I do, and the two of us have made a little deal. I’m going to get back what’s mine, and Sylvanas is going to die. The only thing under her control is if you die with her.”

“You bastard!” The interruption came from one of the guards standing at his side, who slowly morphed into a familiar shape. Sylvanas.

She’d come after all.

Jaina fell to the ground with a thud as Sylvanas raised her arm and the room filled with arcane energy. The space was overflowing with it, bright lights at war with each other, spells flying that she could hardly even identify, not to mention counter.

She stumbled towards Sylvanas, coughing, watching her work. She was casting so intensely her eyes burned with light, her shoulders squared for battle. When Jaina was close enough, she reached out to tug on one sleeve of her robe.

“Sylvanas, you’re playing into his hand. We need to _go_ ,” Jaina said, casting a spell herself so a fan of ice speared up around them, giving them a small shielded area.

It took a moment, but the fierce look on Sylvanas’ face faded and she nodded. Jaina drew the hearthstone out from her tunic.

“Can you help me break through the shielding spells?”

When Sylvanas nodded, she let the teleportation spell within the gem loose and started to push, until the palace around them disappeared and they were home.

* * *

They reappeared in the downstairs of the castle. Both of them were shaking, and without needing to discuss it they shared some bacon and went immediately to bed. The next morning, as soon as Sylvanas came down for breakfast, Jaina flung her arms around thin elven shoulders.

“Well. What’s this for?” Sylvanas laughed, voice still a little rough with sleep.

“I didn’t thank you, for yesterday. You came for me. So, thank you,” Jaina said, smiling, warm with gratitude and basking in the feeling of her hands curled in the back of Sylvanas’s robes and being wrapped up with her.

“Oh no. Don’t thank me. That will create expectations. You saw the danger I’ve put you in, with Dar’khan, and I won’t manage that sort of stunt again,” Sylvanas said grimly, even as she patted Jaina’s side.

“Don’t get me wrong, I would have appreciated some advance warning about your mother, and whoever that guy was. But I am the one who chose to live with you, and go to the palace in your place.”

“It isn’t right, to put you in danger if I can’t face it with you. And I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Jaina's voice was gentle, coaxing. It felt like the edge of one of Sylvanas’ deep pains and though she wanted to understand, she didn’t wish to prod at it.

“I’m sure you wondered about my mother. Why I will not see her. I used to have an older sister. She was brave and fierce, a hell of a fighter. It was obvious she was meant to be our mother’s successor. We all loved and admired her so much,” Sylvanas paused, tilting her head upwards. “Alleria. My big sister. She disappeared on a mission years ago, presumed dead.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jaina said, burrowing in closer. “I lost a sibling, too. My big brother Derek. It’s hard to be the one left behind.”

Sylvanas froze, then relaxed. “Yes. I’m sorry, as well.”

“They expected you to be like her?” Jaina asked, voice muffled by Sylvanas’ shirtfront.

She felt the nod more than saw it. “I was never going to be able to take her place. Do what she did. She had this confidence about her, people wanted to follow her, they wanted to be around her. She always knew what to do, in battle and out of it. I tried for a while, but I just felt more and more out of place.”

Jaina waited for the rest of the story, leaning back a few inches so she could see Sylvanas’ expression.

“So. That’s the truth of it. The Windrunners have held the position of Ranger General for generations, and I couldn’t measure up to that legacy. When the burden of my family’s titles fell to me, I ran,” she said, looking lost, and released Jaina. “I didn’t even talk to her about it first. I’m a coward.”

“I don’t know,” Jaina said, whisper-soft, reaching one hand up to Sylvanas’ face and stroking a thumb across a high elven cheekbone. “Hating war? Yes. Avoiding uncomfortable conversations? For certain. But a coward? I’m not so sure about that one.”

“What?” asked Sylvanas with a joking bluster, obviously ready to leave the topic behind. “You can’t respond to me telling you something about myself by _disagreeing_.”

“Of course I can,” Jaina said with a laughing shrug of her shoulders.

“That’s not fair at all!”

“It is so. You’ve done it.”

“When have I done any such thing?” Sylvanas’ mouth was turned up in a vague smile, her head tilted in curiosity.

“You asked me if I was a mage and I said no and you said ‘hmmmm if you say so’ in your most annoying skeptical voice,” Jaina said with mock seriousness, relieved to see Sylvanas smiling again rather than looking so grim and defeated.

Syvanas’ mouth opened with shock, then closed. “That’s different. You obviously were!”

“It’s the same,” Jaina said, as if the matter had been settled.

Sylvanas’ mouth opened again, and a laughing grin split her face. “It isn’t,” she replied.

“It is,” she said, glaring. “Because _I say it is_.”

* * *

Apart from occasional bursts of good nature, Sylvanas remained depressed. She spent most of the day in her own rooms, not even her study. She would come out when coaxed, but only for a meal or conversation. Then she’d disappear again.

Rather than retreat, the close brush with danger made Jaina double down on her magical studies. Her cleaning projects were collecting dust, both literal and figurative. She spent long hours in the library, paging through books and doing research. Reminding herself of things she had forgotten and teaching herself new spells. Sometimes it was overwhelming, realizing how much she had to learn. Other times, it was exhilarating.

Sylvanas left her alone at first, interrupting only once to plead with her about the danger, and insist that she should go home. She swore up and down that she would find someone capable of breaking the curse, that she would send them to Boralus.

It didn’t do any more good than it had the first time. Even if she weren’t cursed, and bound up with Sylvanas’ fate in some deeper manner she couldn’t shake loose from, her feelings had gotten away from her when she wasn’t looking. She’d been able to ignore it when things were normal, and they spent most of their time bickering with each other.

But now, with Sylvanas caught in some dark place? Even when she wasn’t in her rooms, the elf spent most of her time staring off into the distance with a constipated look on her face. Every time Jaina saw her, her chest clenched with worry. When she felt how badly she wished to see that fang studded smile again, she knew the truth. Her heart had gone and done something very unwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also here being a big nerd on [tumblr](https://ladyptarmigan.tumblr.com/)!!!


	3. Chapter 3

Jaina told herself it was only a crush. She repeated a mantra to that effect; she muttered it to herself every morning, and sometimes after mealtimes as well. Better to be thorough.

It seemed like it was working. Her heart managed to calm itself in the presence of her foe, which was doubly notable as Sylvanas recovered. As the days passed and nothing new happened, something in the pale elf seemed to come unclenched. Her smile came more and more often as she got back to her old games, mostly annoying Jaina.

When she caught Jaina still in the library from the previous night, asleep in an armchair, she laughed for a minute straight before going downstairs again to fetch her some breakfast.

When she came back up, plate in hand, she had a curious look on her face. Jaina couldn't have guessed what the topic wound up being in a hundred years. She expected more mocking.

“The lie you told my mother. About being my apprentice. It could be true, you know,” Sylvanas said casually, trying to play it cool but the tightness around her eyes giving her away.

“I’m not sure,” Jaina answered honestly.

“I would teach you.”

“I know you would,” Jaina said gently. “It isn’t about that. Being a mage is a door I closed. A future I thought I had left behind. Going back to that, means more than just learning magic.”

“I think I understand,” she replied slowly. “If you want, I can show you the room I use to practice. It’s warded, against spillover or explosions. And if you have any questions, you can always ask.”

“That sounds good,” Jaina said, around a bite of potatoes.

* * *

The next time Sylvanas came up to the library to check up on her studies, Jaina had an entirely different line of inquiry in mind.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Jaina said, sitting at a desk and looking down at a book. “Why does the Witch of the Waste hate you so much?”

Asking personal questions of Sylvanas was always a mixed bag. The issue with the creepy elf magister seemed more personal, as if it would hurt her to discuss it. Everything about Quel’thalas and her life before she lived in the wandering castle felt raw, despite how many years it had been. The Witch seemed more like a recent problem.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Sylvanas only winced and scowled.

Jaina had learned by now that when she stumbled across an old, deep wound Sylvanas went blank. Like if she tried hard enough, she could pretend it didn’t matter, that nothing was underneath that mask of stillness. Any other reaction was typically all right.

“I was stupid,” Sylvanas said.

“That doesn’t exactly give me any _new_ information,” Jaina said, her smile soft enough to take any sting out of the words.

Sylvanas shook her head with a little half grin. “I was… entangled with her. Briefly. A magical collaboration that became more personal. When it didn’t work out, Lady Vashj took it badly.”

“Are you telling me you pulled your lady-killer routine on the Witch of the Waste?” Jaina asked, dumbfounded despite herself. Stupid was an understatement. Only Sylvanas. She couldn’t believe it, she was cursed because the Witch of the Wastes was Sylvanas’ ex.

“It wasn’t like that!” she squawked. “Her appearance is an illusion. She’s really a naga! I wasn’t going to… her lower half is a fish! That’s a dealbreaker, I’m sorry.”

“What?” Jaina asked, hand flying to her mouth. A naga? That was understandable. Still, Sylvanas deserved some revenge. “Are you telling me that if I was secretly half fish, you would spurn me? You would cast me from your heart and your home? Our friendship ended by the cruel blade of discrimination?”

“Stop that,” Sylvanas said, laughing, shoving her hand against Jaina’s mouth. “Don’t even say that. Yeesh. Fish scales, and that creepy snake hair, I mean, could you blame me?”

* * *

Before long, business was back to normal as well. Sylvanas started taking customers again, until she was back at her normal levels of hustle and bustle Monday through Thursday. Jaina always liked listening to what sorts of problems people brought to the Magister. It could be anything, from helping a teenage boy with a personal crisis to a noblewoman with an espionage problem.

Over dinner, Sylvanas would relay the best tales of the day and what solution she had come up with. It was always entertaining.

Jaina was especially curious on this particular day. Sylvanas had finally agreed to investigate a problem with disappearances in Dampwick Ward, a commission she had previously turned down three times. She did not deal with human legal matters unless they had a magical dimension, and they'd both agreed that anyone who ‘disappeared’ from the Ward was a victim of a gang, not a monster.

Local guardsmen insisted something was amiss, however, and kept determinedly returning with scrap cloth and bits of evidence that some sort of monster was prowling the streets.

Sylvanas had finally agreed to take a look (she was always more tenderhearted than she’d like to admit). She’d left in the morning, came back some time after lunch, raced to her room, and then never reappeared.

It was now well past time for dinner. Jaina had set out sandwiches, and wound up eating by herself.

At this point, she was worried.

She went up to Sylvanas’ room and knocked on the door.

There was no answer. Jaina leaned against the door, pressing closer so she could hear any response more easily, and knocked again.

“Sylvanas?” she asked.

“Go away,” said a miserable voice from inside.

“Are you alright?” Jaina fretted for a moment about whether to burst in. Now she was truly worried.

“I’m dying!” Sylvanas shouted mournfully.

Now she was no longer worried. Jaina tugged at the doorknob, muscling through the locking spell, if only because she preferred to have whatever this was out of the way sooner rather than later.

When she entered she found Sylvanas collapsed on the rug in the middle of the room, overcoat thrown to the side, one sleeve coated in some dark green slop, and tugging desperately at her hair.

“Dying? Really?” Jaina asked.

“I can’t go on,” she said, folding in on herself and knitting her hands behind her neck.

Jaina sighed and closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head. She prayed for patience, then opened them again.

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.” She gestured down at the scene below her, with Sylvanas practically writhing on the floor.

“Look at this!” she said, grabbing a section of hair and thrusting it towards Jaina. “What a disaster!”

Jaina looked at Sylvanas’ hair. There was indeed an enormous tangle in the middle section. Some of that green ooze must have gotten in her hair, and she’d made it worse by fussing with it. Jaina could see the places she’d spread the sticky material by accident, where it expanded from the main mass of hair and past the bulk of the knotted sections.

“It’s only hair, Sylvanas. You can cut it, add some other layers in different places, make it seem like it’s just a new haircut. No big deal,” she said, in the same voice you’d use to keep a farm animal calm.

“Absurd! Look how high up this shit goes. What, am I supposed to have _bangs_? Bangs?!” Sylvanas wailed. “Just scatter my ashes in the mountains.”

“Oh no,” Jaina said, stepping forward and grabbing Sylvanas arm. “That’s enough of that. Come with me, and I don’t want to hear another word.”

Jaina pulled Sylvanas to her feet and led her from the room. The mage followed, though with a dark, sulky frown on her face.

She passed by Sylvanas’ bathroom (god only knew what kind of shape that place was in) and went downstairs to the bath she used on the second floor.

She went to the tub, turned the hot water on full blast, and added a copious amount of the lavender and lilac bath soap that got substantially foamy. As the water ran, she turned the cold on too until the bath was a pleasant and balmy temperature, and the air was filled with a relaxing floral scent.

“Strip and get in,” Jaina said firmly. “I need to go downstairs and grab a few things.”

Sylvanas just peered suspiciously at her.

She would take that as agreement, she thought as she hustled downstairs to the kitchen. She grabbed some sunflower oil and a small thin icing spatula. Before she went back upstairs, she grabbed the plate with Sylvanas’ sandwich on it for good measure. Missing meals never helped her mood.

After retrieving a comb with fine, thin teeth and a brush from her own room, she shouldered her way through the bathroom door again with both hands full and the plate balanced in the crook of her elbow.

Sylvanas was buried mostly under the water, with just her nose and the top of her head sticking out. A poofy layer of foam on top of the water left nothing visible except that slice of head; Jaina almost laughed.

She stopped herself just in time.

She sat on a stool next to the tub, setting her supplies on the sink next to them. The plate went on the very edge of the counter, hopefully in range for Sylvanas to steal bites off of. Given the cursedly lucky genetics of the elves, with their long, elegant limbs, it probably was.

“That sandwich is for you. Please eat, you know it isn’t helping,” Jaina said as she tried to suss out which section of Sylvanas hair was messed up with most of it underwater.

She guessed and peeled a section away, lifting it over the lip of the tub. She got lucky, picking up most of the largest tangle, and continued to add to her pile until she’d gotten the worst of it. For a few minutes she let the hair drip over the edge, so that it was a little less waterlogged, then picked up her bottle of oil. It was meant for cooking, but it should do the job.

She poured some on a bad section of ooze encrusted hair, rubbing it in gently and adding more up and down the strands.

The work was engrossing, she couldn’t tell how much time was passing. When she looked up, Sylvanas had come further out of the water and was watching her intently.

Her lovely collar bones were showing, and those slim pale shoulders.

Jaina nearly died, looking once, then twice, then back at the hair with determination. _Elves_. It was so unfair. Looking so beautiful, like an elegant lady who just stepped out of a painting, while in the middle of a tantrum about her hair. Jaina fought off her blush with the valiance of a soldier.

Judging the oil to have done its work (the ooze felt less tacky, more solid), she picked up her icing spatula. Scraping down the strands, pressing hard against the tub, the green paste-y muck began to give way. It wasn’t easy, where the hair was tangled she couldn’t get the right kind of pressure, but it was something.

“Eat your goddamn sandwich,” Jaina said grouchily, looking up.

She tried hard not to be flustered at the sight of Sylvanas in the bath, at the smooth skin of her back and shoulders and neck.

“You said not to open my mouth,” Sylvanas said, smugly.

Jaina breathed out very hard. Then she thanked Sylvanas, internally, for dumping such a nice splash of water on the fires of her attraction. Problem solved.

“You can still die, you know. If that’s what you want.” Jaina tilted her head and raised her eyebrows.

Sylvanas smirked, then reached over for half a sandwich.

Jaina pretended she didn’t notice anything about graceful elven forearms or the soft, delicate musculature of her upper arms.

She picked up the comb, instead, and began to work very carefully on the edges of a snarl.

* * *

“If I’m going to sit here for all this time, I’d like to be entertained at least,” Jaina said, without looking up from her work.

Sylvanas chuckled, leaning back further into the water. “Would you?”

“Yes, I would. Now, what exactly happened to leave you in this state, anyhow?”

“Well,” Sylvanas said with a dark sigh. “The tale of Magister Sylvanas versus the dangerous, bizarre, mutated putrid waste ooze monster. It all started when I was going down an alleyway, and as soon as I stepped over a sewer grate I could feel something was amiss…”

* * *

By the time they were done, it was pitch dark outside and the water was lukewarm.

Jaina ran the brush through Sylvanas’ hair, top to tip, the whole motion smooth as silk, and both of them grinned with unconcealed delight. It had been a long, arduous task, but it was worth it.

She couldn’t even pretend she hadn’t gone to all the trouble because of how pretty it was and how much she liked it. The fact was obvious. Her own hair, more of a dirty, straw blonde, had never shown like that, never seemed like the sun itself. If it had been her, she would have just cut it.

In this one area, she would allow Sylvanas to be vain (though she could hardly afford to be _more_ vain than she already was).

Sylvanas wasn’t entirely muck free, but the tangles had been teased loose and the situation was much improved.

“Well. That’s much better,” Jaina said, her smile deeply satisfied. “There’s towels in the closet, I’ll leave you to finish up.”

“Thank you,” Sylvanas said with emphatic sincerity.

Bracing her hands against her knees, Jaina tried to stand. So much time in a low, uncomfortable seat had taken its toll though. Her joints erupted with pain-daggers of protest, knees grinding against the change in position. She toppled forward and caught herself on the edge of the tub, cursing.

“Bloody _fuck_ ,” she spat out, chest heaving.

“Jaina!” Sylvanas cried out at the same time, grasping the front of Jaina’s shirt.

Her arm had darted out as soon as she saw Jaina start to fall. The look on her face was now deep and searching and worried.

“I’m fine,” Jaina said, a little breathy still. “Don’t get old, Sylvanas.”

“Not for a very long time,” Sylvanas said, her voice soft and sad.

* * *

The next day, Jaina woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs in the frying pan. She dressed in a hurry and hustled down the stairs, just in time for the toast to finish and the eggs to be done just right.

Sylvanas slid the contents of the frying pan onto a plate and handed it to her.

“Wow, what good service!” Jaina said, smiling. “You’ve become positively civilized, Sylvanas.”

“I wouldn’t go quite that far.”

“You’d best bring me lunch and dinner today then, too, just to make sure it sticks.” It was said with enough of a smirk that Sylvanas could just fire back if she wanted to refuse.

Sylvanas rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

* * *

Sylvanas did indeed bring lunch upstairs for her.

She was deeply involved with a book, and had forgotten the time, the place, and very nearly the year.

“I’ve brought you some lunch, ma’am,” Sylvanas said, in the starched and formal tone of a butler.

Jaina looked up from her reading briefly, then reached over to grab half the sandwich—corned beef, and it looked delicious. She took an enormous bite, chewing thoughtfully.

“Oh! Sylvanas, I have something to ask you before you go.” The sentence was studded with chewing, as Jaina hadn’t quite swallowed her bite yet.

“What, now that you’ve made me have manners you don’t have to bother with them?” Sylvanas said, grinning like a shark.

“Don’t even,” Jaina said, wiping her mouth. “I was reading a primer on some of the advanced spellcasting available in the frost magic branch, and found an invisibility spell. I can’t seem to make heads or tails of it.”

“Eat your lunch first, then we’ll go practice.” Sylvanas tried to sound put upon, but the way she bounced with excitement was a dead give away.

Jaina took another, larger bite of her sandwich.

* * *

When Jaina came down the stairs the next morning, it was to the sounds of music. If it could be called music.

Sylvanas had apparently gotten a fiddle as payment from a customer. She held it correctly, between shoulder and chin, her form was good, but the sounds coming from it were absolutely ghastly. She couldn’t help herself from laughing at the vile screeching, and that only made Sylvanas play worse.

Just the sight of her, with that battered instrument and bright smile, made something vast and wild and warm blossom in her chest. Her heart hammered, but she fought down the dread that rose right alongside it; she couldn’t bring herself to worry yet even though she knew how bad this was.

As she smiled and booed and stomped her feet, Jaina Proudmoore knew she was in love.

* * *

The problem was, Jaina didn’t have the slightest idea how Sylvanas felt in return. They cared about each other, of course. They were friends. There was love there, for sure.

But, was it romantic? Jaina had seen how men behaved when they were enamored with a woman. Taking any excuse to get closer, leaning in, putting a hand on a shoulder or knee, jostling elbows as they helped to carry packages. She had seen the blushing and the awkward rambling sentences. Rarely directed towards herself, but still.

Sylvanas was not like that. She rarely touched anyone of her own volition. She projected the same warmth and generosity at Jaina as she did everyone. There was more intensity there, sometimes. More attention. The strange detachment Sylvanas was so prone to fell away more often in her presence.

That did not seem like love, though. Not compared to how Jaina felt.

She could hardly blame her. Sylvanas was beautiful. Tall and lithe and golden haired, a woman from a high ranking family and at the top of her craft.

Jaina couldn’t measure up to most of that, even if she hadn’t been cursed into an old woman. At her prettiest she was as stocky and stubborn as a draught horse, and not half so easygoing.

She only let herself be a little sad. They had bigger problems, and one day maybe it would change. Maybe, once the curse was broken, there would be more.

* * *

“Eyir, I’ve done something stupid.”

“What is it?” Eyir asked, sounding as exasperated and put upon as a disembodied voice possibly could.

“I'm in love with Sylvanas.”

“Is this really happening to me?” the fire murmured mournfully.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry! You’re just the only other person here to talk to.”

* * *

Then Sylvanas had to go and make things even more complicated, all on her own.

She flounced around all morning about a mysterious ‘surprise’ she’d gotten ready. It was apparently very exciting and she’d like it very much and they would have a very great time; Jaina had a bad feeling. Sylvanas never tried so hard, for her to get so over the top made every single alarm bell in Jaina’s head go off.

Her stomach was actually churning by the time Sylvanas led her out the door by the arm, through to a new portal destination.

When they stepped out the location was indeed picturesque. There was a cozy looking cottage sitting along the banks of an alpine lake bracketed by rolling green hills. A grassy, wildflower strewn field spread out around it. It was almost too beautiful, like something out of a painting. Jaina hated how much she liked it.

“It’s lovely,” Jaina said to Sylvanas. “What is it?”

Sylvanas dropped her hand to Jaina’s forearm and squeezed. “Let me show you.”

She practically pranced down to the cottage, which had a quaint stone fireplace jutting from the roof and big picture windows on the front. The architecture was clearly elven, for even something intended to be simple had countless little flourishes, every bit of trim and railing was a work of art.

The tour of the inside was even more spectacular. Priceless looking furniture, warm inviting bedrooms and a fully stocked kitchen.

“Just wait, I’ve saved the best for last,” Sylvanas said, practically humming with glee.

Then she opened a door into a library.

It was smaller than the one in the castle. Neater, too. But it was filled with wooden bookshelves, stained a rich dark color, and filled with old looking books.

Jaina almost wanted to cry. She was overwhelmed by how happy and how upset she was all at once.

“Sylvanas, what is this?” she asked, her voice dark with seriousness.

Sylvanas froze. “Well. My sister owned this place, she used it as a hunting cabin. I’d forgotten about it. But I figured, well, she left it to me, and it doesn’t do any good gathering dust. So I got it looking nice again.”

“You got it looking nice again, and?” Jaina asked, not fooled.

Slow and hesitant, Sylvanas drew a key out of her pocket and held it out.

“I thought you would like it. I filed the paperwork, so that legally, it’s…” she almost jagged to halt, sensing danger, then sped up to compensate, “It’s in your name as well. And I set up some fixed portals so it’s connected to the city, and I got more books, and…”

“You can’t just give me a house!” Jaina wanted to be sick. She was breathing hard, on the edge of panic.

Sylvanas just kept staring at her, face blank, like she didn’t know what emotions to have or what to say. She kept holding the key out, and Jaina snatched it from her hand just so she would stop. As soon as she touched it, she could feel the spells on it: it would never be lost or stolen, no normal damage could touch it, and it would take her back here whenever she willed.

She didn’t put the key in her pocket, she just stared at it for a moment and then clenched it in her fist, squeezing hard. “I don’t want this,” she said, voice soft.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“This feels like you leaving me behind,” Jaina said, finally finding the words for it and choking on them. “Like you found a place for me rather than with you, but that isn’t what I want. That isn’t what I want Sylvanas, I don’t want you to go away and leave me behind with a nice house.”

“I just wanted to do something nice for you,” Sylvanas said, still looking struck.

“You didn’t. You didn’t Sylvanas, don’t try and pretend that’s what this is about,” Jaina’s voice rose, and Sylvanas shrank away.

Sylvanas didn’t answer—couldn’t, or didn’t want to.

Jaina took many deep breaths until she felt more in control.

“I’m sorry. For getting angry. I know we’ve both been on edge. We’ll talk later? When you’re ready?” Jaina asked, much gentler.

Sylvanas managed a moment of eye contact and nodded.

* * *

They didn’t ever get the chance.

Two days later Jaina came down the stairs for lunch and found Sylvanas collapsed in the entryway with the Witch of the Waste standing over her.

“Sylvanas!” she shouted, and barreled through the kitchen.

Panic shot through her like electricity. She was reminded all at once of Dar’khan’s threats, of the shadow that woman had cast over their lives from the very beginning of their time together.

“Look who it is,” the witch said, laughing cruelly. “My old friend. Don’t worry, I’m leaving.”

She wasn’t sure what to do as she reached Sylvanas’ side. Ready a spell? The witch hadn’t attempted to cross the threshold, she just stood on the other side of the door. The portal was opened to Lordaeron, in the city random civilians were walking by the scene as if nothing was happening. Was it an illusion?

She crouched down next to Sylvanas instead.

“You’ll meet me,” the witch said coolly, gazing down at Sylvanas. “You don’t have a choice. Your girl here? Your sweet baby sister? I’ve heard she has twins, little redheaded boys. That would be a shame, if I had to do something unfortunate. On the day when the moon is dark, you’ll wear my ring, and you’ll bring me the heart that should have been mine.”

Then the witch reached out and opened her fist.

A ring dropped to the floor and bounced once before clattering to a stop. It was a simple gold circle, unornamented and plain but well polished; a cruel mockery of a wedding band.

When Jaina looked up again, the witch was gone.

* * *

Sylvanas was unresponsive for the rest of the day. It took an hour just to get her up the stairs and into bed, with Jaina hefting the elf over one shoulder and heaving her up step by agonizing step. She left a plate for dinner, but it was untouched the next morning.

No matter what Jaina said or did, no matter what question she asked, there was no reply. And that was when she was awake; the elf spent most of the day asleep. She considered it a success when a piece of toast she had left disappeared.

The whole week passed like that.

Jaina knew she needed a plan.

* * *

“You’re what Sylvanas stole from Magister Dar’khan, aren’t you?”

In front of her, the fire crackled and burned. She took the lack of denial as agreement.

“And, the Witch of the Waste’s message—for Sylvanas to meet her, and to bring the heart that should have been hers—she isn’t just talking about being jilted. Sylvanas used her heart, her _literal_ heart, to tether you here. That’s what’s so… off about her, and why she can’t,” Jaina trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

“You’ve always been too smart for your own good,” Eyir said.

“It never made any sense for Sylvanas to have bound a living being. It isn’t in her nature, she never would have, not on purpose. But that bastard Dar’khan, for her to have stumbled across some scheme of his and interfered? That, I can see.”

“Does it matter?” The question was disaffected, almost hollow. Resigned.

“It does,” Jaina said firmly. She opened her fist to reveal the gold ring in the palm of her hand.

“What have you done?”

“She’s falling apart Eyir,” Jaina pleaded. “She can’t do it.”

“Don’t be a fool!” The plea was very close to being emotional.

“I checked, there’s nothing on the ring except the trigger and the teleportation directives. I can go in her place. If I’m with you.”

“And why would I agree to that?”

“The easiest way to separate you from the heart is by killing Sylvanas. But if she wasn’t there, Lady Vashj would have to use some other method—I’m sure they exist. You’d be free, and I could give Sylvanas her heart back.”

“Ah yes, what a great way to get yourself killed and me bound to a far worse master.”

“So, our only problem is we need a way to beat Lady Vashj! I already have a few ideas, with your help I think we have a chance.”

Eyir sighed, long and low. “Alright. Let’s begin, then.”

* * *

“Don’t worry,” Jaina announced to the room, even though Sylvanas was probably asleep. “I’m just here to borrow a little money.”

The low chuckle from the bed surprised her. Sylvanas was curled into a tight ball and piled under several blankets, you could barely make her out except for splashes of hair or the tip of an ear, but she was awake.

“I admit, not what I was expecting.” Sylvanas’ voice was weak and raspy, but she managed to inject it with humor.

“I’ll pay you back, I swear. Just need to go to the market for some things.”

“Jaina,” Sylvanas said, then swallowed. “I don’t mind. You don’t have to, whatever you need. It’s fine.”

“I’m not a gold digger!” Jaina exclaimed, wanting to go back to joking; suspecting where Sylvanas’ mind had gone.

“Can you imagine? I’d love to show you off around Quel’thalas. Arm in arm with a little old lady, and I’d tell them all you were only with me for my money.”

Jaina couldn’t help it, it made her throat feel hot and tight to hear Sylvanas joking like she used to. She walked over to the bed, smiling down at the lump under the covers.

“You should take it,” Sylvanas spoke, before Jaina had the chance to. “The money. Whatever’s there. There’s more upstairs, in my workroom. One of the cabinets, under where I keep the potions that are ready for clients. The… the second drawer. I think.”

“Stop,” Jaina croaked out. “Stop it. Stop worrying.”

“Not much chance of that.” The voice from under the covers was barely audible.

“Just for a few minutes. Can you do that for me?” Jaina pleaded, smoothing her hand over where she could feel Sylvanas’ shoulder. “Let yourself have a few minutes of peace.”

She patted around the hair she could see until she found a head and then wormed her hand under the covers. With her nails, she raked gently across Sylvanas’ scalp, combing blonde hair back over and over. The motion was hypnotic; even she wasn’t sure how long she sat there on the mattress, giving what comfort she could.

She didn’t stop until Sylvanas’ breathing slowed, and she was deeply asleep.

* * *

“What do you think?” Jaina asked as she deposited an armload of magical odds and ends on the hearth.

There was a large, busted up old lantern with the glass sides removed, a long, curled rope of wick, a frighteningly luminescent orb that glowed inwardly with blue flame, an assortment of scrolls, several gemstones, a map, and a hefty, wicked looking dagger.

“Don’t tell me you’re still on with your idea about _stabbing_ the Witch of the Waste.”

“My father was a navy man and I learned strategy at the same time I learned to tie my shoes! I maintain that our best chance is to do the most unlikely, most surprising thing. And an old lady stabbing you with a cold iron dagger as long as her forearm is not something anyone plans for.”

“You are quite mad,” Eyir said, but contradicted her words by sounding rather impressed.

* * *

She had checked a table of moon phases. The dark of the moon could only mean the new moon, and that would come by the end of the week. Jaina spent every day trying not to be ill.

It was worse, somehow, not just what was happening, but that Sylvanas had been so destroyed by it. If it had only been what was coming, what she was going to do, that would have been one thing. But to be apart from Sylvanas, too?

To not be able to have one last dinner together, like they used to? To never hear her laugh again?

It felt wrong, somehow. She didn’t blame Sylvanas for not being able to face it. This was hard enough for her, still having her own heart in her chest. All the love and fear and agony, all the regrets and quiet hopes she had put aside were rolling around in her chest like salted fish in a barrel. But for leaving her, before she had to?

Her heart was breaking. She would never have asked Sylvanas to fight, but it still hurt somehow, that she wouldn’t fight for _her_.

* * *

There was only one day left. Jaina knew she had to say something, have some sort of closure with Sylvanas before she left. She’d already sent a letter to her mother, to tell her and Tandred that she loved them, and describing all that had happened. She’d let them know that she would either be back to visit soon, or not at all. It wouldn’t have been fair to never explain.

She’d written a note for Sylvanas too, of course. But it felt cruel. Not to speak with her, say something real, even if she wasn’t going to reveal what she planned to do.

She knocked on Sylvanas’ door, and entered even when there wasn’t an answer.

Stepping carefully over books and trinkets, bits of wire and abandoned projects, Jaina went to the bedside. She looked down at the long, lanky body twisted up under the comforter, saw movement from breathing that was too fast to be sleep and was almost rapid enough to be a panic attack.

Her heart clenched in her chest, for the thousandth time, for the last time. Part of her wanted to reach down and find a slender elven hand, to climb into that bed so that they could wrap themselves around each other and be afraid together. She didn’t do it. She had a mission.

“Sylvanas,” she started, then choked. “I just wanted to tell you. You’ve taught me so much, about myself and the world, shown me so many beautiful things. You gave me back my dreams. You make me laugh every day. No matter what, I don’t regret any of it. I have never wanted you to be any different than what you are.”

There wasn’t an answer, and she left the room fighting very hard to keep the tears from her eyes.

When she shut the door behind her, she was so gentle and slow it barely made a sound, nothing at all except the faintest click of the latch moving back into place. Jaina leaned against that door with a hand still on the doorknob, shoulders shaking, breathing hard, trying to make the word ‘goodbye’ leave her mouth.

When she knew she couldn’t do it, she went downstairs to wait by the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr](https://ladyptarmigan.tumblr.com/)!!!


	4. Chapter 4

She woke on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, at first light.

“Jaina. It’s time,” Eyir prodded gently.

Jaina nodded and stood, working the kinks from her back and shoulders. She set the now heavily modified lantern down next to Eyir, and went to the kitchen. She got a piece of bread and cheese and ate as fast as she could.

Then she drew a letter out of her coat pocket, and set it carefully in the middle of the table.

It was folded so that the only writing visible was ‘ _Sylvanas’_ , penned along the top edge.

She went back to the hearth, picked up the lantern with Eyir burning inside, and walked out of the kitchen and then out of the house; as the sun came up over the horizon she put the gold band on her finger and disappeared.

* * *

Sylvanas woke up, and with the instincts of someone who had lived in the same place for decades, knew something was wrong. She had a bad feeling, a sensation of absence where there should be presence. It was more than what day it was (the day she would die, the day she was going to _die_ ). Something was off.

For the first time in days, she got out of bed. Her whole body felt disjointed, her limbs were frozen, but she stumbled her way down the stairs. The house was silent, dead silent, and there was nothing and no one inside. The place felt empty, it was empty, and if her heart had been in her chest it would have killed her with wretched fear when she went down to the kitchen and saw the table, and saw the note in the center of it.

She picked up the paper, thumb pressing against her own name written in cursive, and turned it over to read.

> _Sylvanas,_
> 
> _I don’t know how to start this letter. Given what day it is, I don’t think I have to tell you where I have gone. I’m sorry, if only for worrying you and leaving this way, but the Witch of the Waste and I have unfinished business._
> 
> _It’s hard to explain what the curse made real in me. I think, in some ways, I have felt old ever since my brother and father died. Every day was filled with drudgery, every week, every year. It all lost its color. I can guess what you must think of a human lifespan, but Sylvanas I cannot explain to you how long every single day felt to me. No part of my life with you was like that._
> 
> _I looked forward to every morning. You and your home filled my life with joy and warmth. And_ you _, you have been such a gift to me, with your silliness and grandeur and generosity. For the first time in so long, I’ve felt like a young woman again. But being old taught me an important lesson, about what we want our lives to mean._ _The choice I have made is about that—what I want my life to be about and what it’s all for._
> 
> _I don’t want you to feel guilty or responsible for what I made the decision to do. There is no blame to take, or give. I know what I’m asking is difficult, but Sylvanas I hope that one day you understand._
> 
> _I am not afraid. I have a good plan, and I’m prepared. I intend to live, even though I’m well aware of what the more likely outcome of my actions is. I have written this only because it was too cruel just to disappear without a word._
> 
> _When I climbed into your home and declared myself your housekeeper, I was set upon this path and it always would have led here. I would change nothing,_ nothing _, about any of it. If Sylvanas Windrunner continues to exist in this world then I have no regrets. I am twenty years old, and if I lived another sixty the way I did before it would have meant so little; an existence only, compared to the life I’ve cherished here. I will use those years for this, instead._
> 
> _I choose to burn bright._
> 
> _Remember me well._
> 
> _Al diel shala,_
> 
> _Jaina_

Sylvanas dropped the note and sprinted back up the stairs, taking them in twos and threes, until she reached her bedroom. She flung open the nightstand drawer where she had put the witch’s ring (where Jaina had put the ring? She couldn’t remember) and searched frantically, pushing aside quills and trinkets with shaky hands.

She gave up and tore the drawer out instead, dumping the contents on the floor.

The ring wasn’t there (she knew it wouldn’t be, oh gods no). She was frozen, for one timeless second.

Then she dropped to her knees and howled, a wretched piercing noise, she screamed like her world had ended and nothing would ever come after.

* * *

When Jaina appeared in the desert, lantern in hand, she was disturbed when Turnip-head appeared right alongside her. Considering the circumstances, shocking her should have been difficult, but this did rather accomplish it.

“Really?” Jaina asked, eyes closing in frustration.

Turnip-head hopped in a little circle, white gloves flashing in the bright sun.

After a moment, she decided that this was the least of her problems. He seemed cursed, she was cursed, she would just assume they were on a grand crusade together against Lady Vashj.

“You know what? I’m just going to go with this. Come on turnip-head, let’s go kill the Witch of the Waste.”

* * *

Part of her had almost hoped to be attacked right at the teleport point.

The Witch of the Waste had more flair than that, apparently. Or, more likely, she enjoyed twisted power games. She could only imagine forcing Sylvanas to trek the desert looking for her before she’d have the decency to end it.

Jaina was really looking forward to killing that bitch.

It was obvious where they were supposed to be going; an oasis with a decent size spring shone in the distance. She couldn’t tell if it was an illusion or not, but figured it didn’t matter. It might not be, Vashj seemed to be showing off the fact that she didn’t need to be tricky to win. Brute force alone had been enough thus far.

Her hand tightened around the lantern.

* * *

Turnip-head hopped along cheerfully beside her as she closed in on the oasis, holding the lantern for her. She’d decided it’d be easier to get in close that way.

The nervousness had bled out of her as they walked, and Jaina felt calm and ready. She knew what to do, and what not to. Her robes were shielded to high hell. She didn’t have the skill to counter the witch, so she wasn’t going to try. She was going to get in a lucky blow, let Eyir guide her, and finish it as fast as she could. They had suspicions about what weaknesses a Naga ought to have, and a small arsenal of spells and scrolls to try. Something would work.

“Why isn’t this a sad crew.”

Jaina braced herself for action, or more precisely, for acting. The voice had come from off to the side, and she started towards it.

“Please. You know Sylvanas doesn’t mean any harm,” Jaina said, in her most pitiful, warbling voice.

“If you want to deliver yourself to your own death, I won’t stop you. But I won’t grant you any mercy, either. You’re not the one whose presence I requested,” the naga said, face blank and cold.

“Isn’t there anything I could do? I brought the heart. Surely there’s some sort of deal we could work out.” She staggered closer, only a few feet away.

“The idea of you having something I could want is laughable,” Vashj said, and then helpfully illustrated with a laugh as warm as the bottom of the ocean.

Jaina flung herself to her knees even closer to the witch. She readied herself to cry, and ran a finger down the hilt of the dagger strapped to her wrist.

The Witch of the Waste came closer, walking with the catlike prowl of a predator who likes toying with their food. She opened her mouth in an unholy grin, mouth full of sharp, terrible teeth. But whatever she was going to say didn’t materialize, for Jaina chose that moment to spring forward. Coiled motion unleashed all at once, she unsheathed the dagger and drove herself up and in as part of one devastating movement. The blade struck home, burying itself in Vashj’s chest as Jaina bared her own blunt, human teeth in a feral grin.

“Fuck you, bitch,” Jaina said.

Vashj screeched, an unholy noise, and flung Jaina away from her with the dagger still protruding from below her collarbone.

Jaina threw up a shield as she tumbled through the air and down a sand dune, absorbing the force of a sharp, blinding spell that followed close behind her. Turnip-head, still holding the lantern, was at her side a moment later.

“Her heart isn’t in her chest either. I could tell when I stabbed her,” Jaina said to Eyir, panting, raising her arms for another spell. “A naga, living in the desert? It’s in the water, Eyir.”

She pulled a scroll from around her waist that was used to set off large explosions.

* * *

The oasis, Vashj, and Jaina all looked equal parts soaked and singed, but no one had struck a decisive blow. They couldn’t pinpoint where the heart was in the water (or, more likely, Vashj could move it) in the middle of combat, but the two pronged assault was putting enough pressure on the witch that she couldn’t devote her full attention to offense.

That wouldn’t last long. They were running low on scrolls and mana, even Eyir was burning dimmer in the lantern.

“I’m going to freeze it. The oasis. I just need a minute to cast.”

“We don’t have a minute,” Eyir groused.

Turnip-head waved by wiggling himself up and down, and took off towards the witch.

Jaina couldn’t help but be impressed. This was not what she had expected out of the scarecrow. She didn’t intend to waste the distraction, she took off towards the water while building energy for her spell. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the poor fellow’s post get shorn in half and the stuffed body blasted sideways, where he plunked into the water.

Well. She’d get him out after they won, she supposed, thanking him as her hand touched the surface of the water. Ice expanded from her palm, traveling faster and faster. The surface first, but then all the way to the bottom, until the entire thing was frozen solid.

She could feel it. A small shape, pulsing in the depths, beating against confinement.

With a glacial spike, she pushed it above the surface still encased in ice but otherwise exposed. Next to her, Eyir worked up a fireball to end this for good.

They were so close.

Before Eyir could cast she was hit by a hard jet of water. Jaina could barely keep hold of the lantern.

Vashj was already halfway into another aggressive spell. She knew this was the endgame. Jaina was a step behind, she could feel it. She couldn’t cast in time to get the heart, and didn’t know how to counter either. The spell she could feel was dripping with venom, and mostly unknown to her.

She reached into her pockets with shaking hands, fishing for another fire orb in the hopes of reviving Eyir, who now barely glowed at all. Jaina knew it was a longshot.

There was nothing left, not in her pockets or her spell arsenal. She tried to gather her energy to physically dodge, to cast a shield, to do anything, when she saw something small move very fast past them and heard Vashj scream.

She turned to look at the heart, and saw a single arrow protruding from it.

She turned to look where the arrow must have come from, and saw Sylvanas.

Jaina almost cried with relief. Sylvanas had a large, intricately carved bow in her hands and was wearing pauldrons over her robes, the sort she had seen just the once on Lireesa. She looked deathly serious, her eyes intent, and she was already drawing back another shot, even as some sort of magic circle came alive around her.

Sylvanas fired again, a well aimed arrow that lodged itself in Vashj’s throat. But even a dying witch has claws, and her arm pushed out in a final spell.

A writhing tentacle of water flung itself at Jaina, knocking her to the ground, wrapping down her arm, and crushing in the lantern.

Sylvanas and Vashj fell at the same time.

* * *

Jaina dug through the glass, water and blood trickling down her fingers as they closed around the lukewarm, barely beating heart.

“Eyir?” she whispered, and spooled what little mana she had left around the floundering shape.

It might be better, to return the heart while the connection between them was so weak. Both of them free, at last, would surely be the best way to end all of this.

“Eyir. Will you be alright, if I give the heart back to Sylvanas?” she asked the barely smoldering core of a bright being.

“Yes.”

Jaina fretted for a moment, then nodded. Taking the soft, warm mass she stumbled to where Sylvanas lay and sat down next to her. Her chest was barely moving.

She could hardly breathe either as she pressed the heart against Sylvanas’ breastbone. She closed her eyes when it slipped inside, leaving her palm laying flat to follow every ragged inhalation; she left it until she felt the heart start beating at last.

The soft vibration made her cry out and bend almost double over the prone elf, shaking with relief. It was done, they had done it.

Now that one was safe, she should check on the other. Jaina looked up, searching for Eyir, wondering if her companion was as okay as she claimed she’d be. It took a moment to spot her, the golden glow blending in with the shimmer of the sand dunes, but as time went on a form was more and more apparent. It kept growing, getting taller, and wings were expanding out behind it.

After another minute, the form solidified. Not in the sense of a physical being, there was no solidness to her, but every part of her was defined from armored boots to the half helm covering her eyes.

“Eyir?”

“Yes,” the being spoke, and her voice was deep and clear and resonant in a way it had never been before.

“You’re free? You can go home?”

“I am free. But I cannot go home. The schemer who tricked me here still bars the way, and I am not strong enough to break through.”

“Not...Dar’khan?” Jaina asked. “Because we can go kill him next.”

“No, not him,” Eyir said, voice soft and almost tender. “Though I thank you, little one. What you have done is enough. My freedom is not nothing, and I will grow strong again with time.”

At that she kneeled down and put a hand on Jaina’s head. Even kneeling she was several feet taller than a human. The touch was warm, despite its weightlessness, and something electric jolted through her at it, the echo of a spell in some language not a single being in Azeroth could speak.

Eyir huffed, almost a chagrined laugh, and laid her other hand on Sylvanas’ forehead. The action was not without affection, and Jaina smiled to see it.

“Wait,” Jaina said, as Eyir went to stand again. “Lean down.”

Jaina fished around her neck for the clasp of her necklace, fighting with the small lever. When she got it off, the many jeweled beads and long chain dangling, she turned to Eyir. Even bending, her neck was almost too far to reach. She stood to have half a chance.

“What’s this for?” Eyir asked as Jaina came closer.

“When I stopped learning magic, they gave me this so I would have something to fiddle with. I’ve been pouring mana into it for years. Sylvanas said the gems were so cheap, it’d be hard to use them for anything, but I bet you could,” Jaina explained as she reached around Eyir’s neck, trying to hurry so it wouldn’t feel so awkward.

At last she got it, the necklace somehow sticking to the incorporeal form. Eyir looked shocked, as she reached up to touch the necklace it started to glow a fiery blue. As her hand fisted around the largest stone, her whole form began to glow with light.

“Jaina,” she said, voice sharp but deep with awe. Eyir stood to her full height, wings furling out behind her, blazing with power. Her helm glinted in the sun, armor almost solidifying into real metal. She was towering, enormous, a goddess standing in the dunes full of power and purpose.

She leaned over again, and what she said after that was in a language Jaina could not understand. She didn’t need to, she could feel the warmth and the blessing in them, and she smiled even as Eyir grew so bright you couldn’t look at her, and was gone.

* * *

Jaina laid down next to Sylvanas in the sand and waited for her to wake up.

If it took too long she would have to try and get them home, but for right now relaxing in the sun was heavenly. She’d taken her cloak off and was all stretched out, every bit of exposed skin felt warm, and the sand was comfortable under her hips and back. Every breath she took (with Sylvanas, alongside her) was a blessing.

She let her eyes close and her mind drift.

“Jaina?” Sylvanas’ voice, when it came, was weak and worried.

She rolled over instantly, bracing herself with her palms against Sylvanas’ shoulder, looking down into blue eyes as they blinked open.

“It’s me. We’re okay.”

Sylvanas did not look okay. She looked full to overflowing. Jaina could barely follow the emotions that flashed across those fine elven features, some she had never seen before. A dumbstruck, off-kilter expression won out, eyes wide, mouth open but halfway to a smile.

An unsteady hand reached up to stroke the hair at her temple.

Jaina tried not to shiver at the sensation of long slim fingers running through her hair, of the thumb that rubbed at her hairline. It was electric, too much sensation for her wrung out and exhausted body.

“Jaina, your hair, it’s beautiful,” Sylvanas murmured.

She tried to see out of the corner of her eyes, and decided it was useless until she had a mirror. The curse was broken, but the strands she could see were still silver. She wasn’t sure what had changed. Before she could ask for an explanation, Sylvanas was pulling her down and into a kiss.

She was so startled she didn’t react at first. Nothing existed outside of Sylvanas’ smooth lips pressed against her own. She was firm, but didn’t press deeper, though only that was enough to make her heart race double time, and she couldn’t repress a faint, hungry noise. One of her hands flew up to cup Sylvanas’ jaw, and she tilted her head in for another kiss.

Jaina hadn’t even gotten to enjoy a full minute of kissing when Sylvanas broke away, all of a sudden teary eyed.

“Sylvanas?”

“How _could_ you?” Sylvanas asked, her voice shaking and full of pain.

“What?” she asked, stunned, unable to keep up with these fast emotional turns. By the time she realized what this was about (her leaving, of course her leaving), Sylvanas had barreled forward again.

“You don’t understand. Jaina, it wasn’t _fair._ It wasn’t fair for you to tell me all those things when I had never told you…” her voice broke, she bit down on her lip hard. “I’d never _told you_. You never thought you were special or amazing or beautiful, when to me you were the most incredible woman to ever live. You shook me awake, made me value life again. The thought of… losing you? Of something happening, and I wasn’t there for you, and you never came back, and I hadn’t…”

Jaina had to stop her, she’d never seen tears in those grey blue eyes, had never seen her shuddering with such grief. She put a hand to Sylvanas’ cheek, shushing her softly. “It’s alright.”

“It isn’t alright!” she almost shouted. “Do you understand that I would _rather_ be dead than lose you? To live in that place alone, knowing I failed you?”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t think you… I’m sorry,” Jaina said, flinching back a little. “Maybe I was scared, too. More scared of my own heart than of Lady Vashj.”

“You can’t possibly… Jaina, I gave you a whole house. With a beautiful lake and fields of flowers and a library. How exactly can you mistake that sort of gesture?”

“I don’t know,” she said sharply, then sighed and rubbed at her reddened cheeks. “One woman can’t be smart about everything, okay?”

Sylvanas laughed at that, choked and teary. “By the light, Jaina. I love you so dearly.”

The words shocked her, even though Sylvanas had all but said them already. She just stared, dumbstruck and frozen.

“My dearest. My best beloved,” Sylvanas went on, reaching out to trace Jaina’s jaw with the edge of her thumb.

“I love you too!” she managed to gasp out before bursting into tears.

“Oh no,” Sylvanas murmured. “I can see why you wanted me to stop,” she continued, rubbing at Jaina’s cheeks, gently wiping away the tears as they fell. “Seeing you cry makes my chest hurt.”

“I’m alright,” Jaina said, lungs still heaving, half hiding her face against Sylvanas’ palm. “I’m just relieved. Vashj is gone, your heart is back, and we got through a whole conversation about emotions. I didn’t dare imagine it.”

She kissed Sylvanas’ fingers, still crying a little. It was only from being overwhelmed, and she’d rather go back to kissing. She’d liked that bit.

Right as she was tugging Sylvanas in, a voice from off to the side made them both freeze.

“Sorry to interrupt, but if you could help me get home that would be much appreciated.”

They turned in unison towards the speaker, a male elf with long blonde hair. He was sopping wet, wearing a black suit that was too short for both his arms and legs, and a blue bow tie that had come almost undone from around his neck.

“Kael’thas?” Sylvanas asked, flabbergasted.

“Prince Kael’thas was turnip-head the whole time?” Jaina asked, having put the clues together, clapping her hands and laughing.

“Kael’thas was _who_?”

* * *

They sent the Prince to the castle, and told him how to use the portal door to get to Quel’thalas. She’d felt awkward not going with him, since half the world was at war over his fate, but he had promised to clear up the misunderstandings and put a stop to it all, and besides neither she nor Sylvanas were in the mood to face elven royalty.

The brief, cathartic period of talking about their feelings seemed to have passed, leaving a strange weighty silence hanging over them both. They sat in the sand, peering at each other out of the corner of their eyes and fiddling with their sleeves.

She wanted to go home. But she also didn’t want to be separated from Sylvanas for a single moment. The bed in her room was too small for two, but she couldn’t imagine sharing that terrible cluttered space where Sylvanas had spent days falling apart, either. Not yet. There were too many memories.

Looking sideways at Sylvanas again, she realized that was probably what was holding them both back. Returning to the castle felt daunting, the space was too full of things they weren’t ready to be reminded of.

Instead, Jaina fished around in her pockets for something else. Her fingers caught on broken off crystal shards and metal odds and ends, all remnants from the fight, and she tossed them into the sand to make her search easier.

At last she found it, and pulled the key from a slit sewn into the inside of her robes.

The weight of it felt different, now. The gift had terrified her for the right reasons; Sylvanas had indeed given it fearing Jaina would be left alone. With this behind them it was a place they could share, and that would make everything different.

She held the key out to Sylvanas.

The elf sat up straighter, a soft smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, as she reached over and tangled their fingers together around the cool metal surface of the key. A moment later, they both were gone.

* * *

Sylvanas was stripping out of her pauldrons and cape and greaves with delighted little sighs. Her undershirt was damp beneath the armor, and the wet fabric that adhered to her sides and neck looked horribly uncomfortable. She wanted to suggest Sylvanas remove the shirt as well, but the thought of saying something so bold made her too nervous.

Jaina huffed, frustrated by feeling anxious about something like that when she _knew_ her feelings were returned.

When Sylvanas turned to her, looking worried, she spun the other way to focus on something else. She didn’t want to discuss her sad insecurities, not when they had won and come back and were happy. She settled on the mirror across the room from her. It was set above a wooden vanity with little drawers, and she went up to it curious despite herself.

The face that looked back at her was young again.

After so long, it was odd to see _herself_ in the mirror. The curse was broken at last.

The only thing different was her hair—still gray, except for a thick slash of blonde at her temple. The two colors beside one another were striking. It looked more like silver with gold wound through than the straw blonde she had grown up with or the gray of an old woman.

In the mirror, she could see Sylvanas coming up behind her. Long wiry arms wrapped around her waist and knocked the breath out of her, and in the mirror she could see Sylvanas’ soft expression as she closed her eyes and pressed a kiss to the top of Jaina’s head. It was light pressure all over, the lips in her hair and hands at her ribs and waist, and she leaned back into the embrace with a pleased hum.

“You really didn’t know?” Sylvanas asked, the question so quiet she wouldn’t have heard it if they weren’t standing so close. “How I felt about you?”

Jaina shook her head.

“I didn’t want you put in danger because of my mistakes. But I never meant…” Sylvanas trailed off.

“It wasn’t your fault. Your heart was gone, and I had convinced myself… well, it doesn’t matter.”

“Jaina,” Sylvanas said. Just her name, in that firm tone, with her slender nose digging in against Jaina’s hair.

“It’s stupid,” she murmured, cursing herself for saying even that much, knowing she had go forward, knowing how foolish it was leave a thorn in your heel before you start a journey.

The silence hung with Sylvanas not responding, just meeting her eyes in the mirror and waiting.

“We met before. In Boralus.”

Sylvanas’ eyes widened just enough that she knew it was true, that their encounter had been mostly forgotten; that even if she hadn’t looked so different, meeting young Jaina had been little more than a pleasant blip to the elf.

“The night of the festival, you chased off two annoying drunks and escorted me home. Do you remember?”

“Yes, but only vaguely,” she admitted, voice strained, looking away.

“I showed up a day later an old woman. I didn’t really expect you to recognize me!” Jaina laughed, watery and only a little forced. “But part of me… I don’t know. Part of me thought that once the curse was broken I would go back to being that plain, forgettable girl. That you would....”

“That I would lose interest, that I would leave you behind,” Sylvanas finished for her, understanding at once, her voice full of agony. “Oh Jaina.”

Sylvanas’ hands fisted tightly into the fabric of her shirt, and the arms around her squeezed even tighter.

“And you thought that sacrificing yourself would be best, that I would be fine without you. But something better and brighter and fuller is waiting for us, and we’re going towards that, do you understand? Doubts aren’t going to stop us, nothing is going to stop us,” Jaina said, eyes full of conviction, reaching up to squeeze Sylvanas’ hand.

Something in her words cut Sylvanas’ self-recrimination short; she could feel the slow exhale at her back, the cool rush of air against her neck.

“I love you,” Sylvanas announced, proud and with only the lightest tremble. “As long as the trees grow and the stars shine, I’ll love you. Every day of my life is yours.”

Jaina didn’t think she was quite done with her romantic speech, but she stopped her anyway when she turned in Sylvanas’ arms and tugged her face down for a long, deep kiss that went on and on.

* * *

They were sitting together on the bed. Jaina’s chest was heaving, her shirt was askew, dress coat unbuttoned and pulled down to her waist. Her blood was racing, and she was trembling knees to elbows.

“Jaina, stop,” Sylvanas said softly, catching her wrist as Jaina reached towards her, “Jaina love. You’re shaking like a leaf. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is _wrong_ ,” Jaina corrected hotly, doing her best to ignore the nervousness skittering up and down her spine.

Sylvanas just looked at her. She didn’t even raise an eyebrow, she only waited.

“I’m fine. Everything is fine,” she looked around, trying to find anything that wasn’t Sylvanas to look at. “I’m only… well of course I’m nervous. I’ve only done this a few times, and never with a woman, and those times weren’t, well, they were okay, it was nice, but it wasn’t exactly educational. It didn’t last long, and I knew it would be weird if I asked a bunch of questions...”

Sylvanas cut her off with a finger to her lips. “You being comfortable is more important to me than anything else. Anytime you want to stop, we’ll stop. Okay?”

“I don’t want to stop,” she said with an emphatic head shake. “I want to magically not be an inexperienced nitwit.”

“Jaina,” she said with an achingly soft laugh, “You know I don’t care about that. I just want to be with you. Whatever that turns out to be, I will treasure. But I also know that there’s an exacting schoolmarm in the back of your mind grading you at all times, you madwoman. Would you like to ask me questions now?”

That stopped her in her tracks. She nodded, wide eyed. It wasn’t exactly the sexiest way to have sex, she fretted, starting with an interrogation. But it would make her feel better. Though, now that the matter was before her, her brain turned to mush and she couldn’t think of anything. She was an embarrassment. Thank goodness Sylvanas was in love with her already.

That thought made her feel warm and light so she smiled, still nodding.

Sylvanas turned that enthused but questionless affirmation over in her mind for a moment, eyebrows furrowing.

“Would you rather touch me, and explore, and I will let you set the pace? Or for me to see what you like first?”

“What do you like? Do you have a… favorite?” Jaina asked, rather than answer. She wasn’t sure how to word that, a favorite what? Sex position? Way of getting off? It all sounded ridiculous. There was a vocabulary to this she just didn’t know, she was certain of it. Was there a book? Some sort of sex dictionary she could purchase?

Any distraction would be welcome, since Sylvanas’ question would take her a moment to process.

“I do have a favorite,” Sylvanas said with a catlike grin. “My favorite is when women use their tongue. On me. For giving, what I like best depends on what the woman likes best.”

“What if you tried what you like, but on me?”

“Like, as an example?” Sylvanas asked, with a big laughing grin.

“Not—I don’t mean like that! Just that I’d never tried it, and…” Jaina rambled, face going red.

“No, no,” Sylvanas said, shaking her head. “It was only funny because it was such a _you_ thing to suggest. It’s a good idea.”

“Oh, I’m such a mess,” Jaina said in despair, pressing both palms to her reddened cheeks.

“You know what I call that?” Sylvanas asked with a cocky smirk. “A good start.”

* * *

Sylvanas was planting gentle, sumptuous kiss across her abdomen and it was driving her halfway to madness.

Every time Jaina thought she would dip lower, she’d drift somewhere else instead. The arch of her hip bones received particular attention, and the outsides of her thighs had been covered with little nips and soft caresses. Her hands shook where she’d fisted them in the bedsheets and her legs shivered, little jolts of electricity that raced from hip to ankle.

A little yelping moan tore its way out of her throat, the sort of noise she’d never made before, and she cursed down at Sylvanas’ smirking face.

“Sylvanas, damn you, if you don’t get on with it right now I swear…” she bit out, unable to think of a good threat when her mind was so scattered.

“Something you want?” Sylvanas hummed, moving lower, settling herself against Jaina’s inner thigh. She smiled against the sensitive skin, purring into an open mouthed kiss.

Jaina pulled at the sheets, half ready to beat her hands against the bed. The covers were beautiful and soft, she didn’t want to tear them, but she wasn’t sure where else her hands should go. She missed touching Sylvanas, but with her moving around there was nowhere easy to settle. Another little lick against sensitive skin knocked her train of thought askew, and she cursed again. She should just ask.

“Wait, wait a moment,” she said, cringing at the mixed message. “What am I supposed to do with my hands?”

Sylvanas looked up from between her spread legs, long eyebrows darting up.

“Holding onto the sheets for dear life is a fine choice,” she said with a slow, sultry grin. “You could put them in my hair, too. I like a little pulling. Or, if you wanted to distract me, you could toy with my ears. But I warn you, if you tease I tease back.”

If her whole lower body wasn’t on fire, she would have loved to drive Sylvanas silly while she tried to complete a task. Another time. Hair pulling sounded fun, though. She reached down to grab a handful of hair at the back of Sylvanas’ head and gave an experimental yank.

“Good,” Sylvanas said, sounding a little dazed.

* * *

Jaina lay there, still panting. Next to her, Sylvanas was collapsed on her side, one hand tracing Jaina’s ribs idly, no intent to the movement except to still be touching.

She flopped a hand over to bury itself in Sylvanas’ hair. It was a silky, golden delight, just as it was every other time she’d had the pleasure of touching that lovely mane, though now it was quite ruffled and askew. She combed through it gently, untangling the strands, pulling them back and away from fine elven features.

“So. How was it? Still good, even though I wouldn’t stop talking?” Jaina asked, grinning so it was clear she was joking.

“Wonderful,” Sylvanas said, her voice soft and full of unflinching seriousness. “It was, in every way, sex with Jaina Proudmoore. Exactly what I wanted.”

* * *

Sylvanas was laying on top of her, body stretched out and long limbs sprawled every which way. She looked completely at peace, content as a cat. Still half asleep, she curled inward to nuzzle Jaina’s boob.

“Good morning,” Jaina said, smiling down at her.

“You have a magnificent rack,” she murmured in reply.

“Why thank you.” Jaina laughed, jostling Sylvanas’ head up and down.

“I didn’t even know. No one else you’ve ever liked can say that. I fell in love with you before I knew you have wonderful,” she stalled, so that one of her hands could trace it’s way up Jaina’s body, “Wonderful legs, and hips, and hair, wonderful everything. My love is… my love is pure.”

“Your love is pure?” Jaina laughed again, tugging her so she could press a smiling kiss against Sylvanas’ tiny fanged smirk. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but my love is decidedly impure. For I have always known what a devastating hottie you are.” She punctuated this sentence by squeezing Sylvanas’ butt.

Sylvanas made a joyful little trill that could only be called a giggle. “I forgive you.”

* * *

They were standing in the kitchen eating breakfast (though it was closer to noon), as they’d lost all the normal morning hours to sleep after using all the normal nighttime hours for other activities. They’d passed a full day and a half, at least, with not much more than talking and togetherness, interspersed with food and sleep.

But Jaina was an unfortunately practical soul, and knew this reprieve from the wider world should come to a close rather soon, if only for the sake of the people who care for them.

She turned to Sylvanas, who was flipping a pancake in nothing but a loose, draping blouse.

“I hate to spoil the mood, but I’ve got some bad news for you,” she said, with a small smile so Sylvanas knew it wasn’t a dire matter. “Before I left, I sent a letter to my mother. I explained what was going on, and where I’ve been. She’ll be expecting to meet you.”

Sylvanas’ shoulders pulled back, and she breathed out in one long slow exhale—a woman bracing herself against a terrible but inescapable fate.

Jaina decided to just keep going, get it over all at once. “Also, we’ll be inviting your mother over. I daresay she deserves at least a conversation about what’s been going on.”

Sylvanas went white instantly.

“Oh come now. You can hardly claim to be a coward anymore, you killed the Witch of the Waste!”

“I fought for less than a minute and then fell over,” Sylvanas replied.

“It was an important minute,” Jaina said, kissing Sylvanas’ cheek.

* * *

The first meeting went better than anyone expected.

Against all reasonable expectations, Katherine Proudmoore was charmed (almost against her will) by Sylvanas. Tandred, of course, had been a given; he would be making fun of Jaina forever, for showing up in love with the same magister she had laughed at the idea of falling for.

They were both overjoyed to find her safe, and had been desperately worried by her disappearance. Being turned into an old woman overnight was a good excuse, and they were happy to see her happy, but she could tell they struggled—not to forgive her, necessarily, but to let go of how much pain she had left them with.

Sylvanas, being new and shiny and wearing many bright colors, had been a marvelous distraction for all of them.

She was essentially the opposite of the sort of person they had thought she would settle down with. Neither of them could say they were surprised, though, to find her embroiled in magic once again. She hadn’t hidden her longing for her old studies as well as she’d thought.

Her Mother was truly happy for her; happy, and also planning some joint business ventures.

* * *

The idea of their second parental visit gave them far more anxiety. When the day arrived, both of them puttered about halfheartedly, cleaning up and restocking the kitchen, trying in vain to get through a magic lesson, before jointly giving up on productivity.

When the moment finally arrived, it was somehow a shock. They both froze when they heard the knock at the door, staring helplessly at one another.

Jaina was the one to stand, whispering “It’ll be fine!” as she went to open it.

Lireesa Windrunner stood on the other side, looking as intimidating and severe as ever in her military armor, but somehow giving off an air of nervousness.

“Come in,” Jaina said, smiling her best ‘polite hostess’ smile.

Lireesa tapped her boots free of dirt on the entrance mat, ears twitching. At the table, Sylvanas looked like a stone statue.

“Good to see you again,” she went on, curious if Lireesa recognized her, though her identity was simple to deduce regardless.

“You’re looking much better, I have to say.”

She apparently did. “That’s what losing sixty years of age can do for a girl,” she said as she took Lireesa’s arm and led her to the table.

“Sit, please,” she went on, ready to get the cheese platter she’d prepared off the counter. “Oh! I was cursed. I’m not anymore, obviously. I forgot for a second we were explaining things, not just telling jokes and making oblique references. It’s a pretty ingrained habit, stop me if there's anything you want to ask.” The whole thing was said a little too fast, but with a good humor she hoped would sink into the occasion.

Lireesa sat, looking like she’d been punched. Sylvanas remained seated, looking like she had been dragged behind a horse cart for several miles and suffered a concussion.

“Don’t just sit there like an idiot, Sylvanas, say hello,” Jaina groused as she picked up the cheese plate and set in on the table.

Lireesa and Sylvanas only stared at each other.

“Hello mother,” Sylvanas choked out, then bit her lip. “Minn’da, I—”

That was as far as she got, before Lireesa stood to throw her arms around Sylvanas’ shoulders and pull her head to her chest. Her thin elven nose dipped down to bury itself in her daughter’s hair as she squeezed her tight.

“Sylvanas.” Her voice was a harsh rasp, overflowing with feeling.

Jaina smiled as she put a cracker and slice of cheese in her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Lireesa said as she released her daughter and sat back down. “It’s just, been a long time.”

“I’m sorry too.” Even Sylvanas was a bit choked up.

“Well,” Lireesa harrumphed, attempting to regain her emotional equilibrium. “I heard there would be an explanation during this meeting, and let me tell you I am quite keen to hear it.”

Jaina looked at Sylvanas, but it was clear she wasn’t in any state to do the talking. “Should I start at the beginning, when I came here? Or, the very beginning?”

“You’d better start with her explanation. The important bits. Otherwise she’ll be too impatient to let you get through the story,” Sylvanas said with a smirk.

“Really?” Jaina asked, almost laughing.

Lireesa didn’t deny it, tipping her head and grinning at her daughter.

The important bits. She wished Sylvanas would take over this part, she didn’t even know some of the details, but it was a success that the two elves were talking at all.

“You may have noticed that Magister Dar’khan is a vile, morally bankrupt piece of garbage?” Jaina asked in an even tone.

Lireesa’s eyes widened. “I had noticed, yes.”

“Not long after Sylvanas was named a magister, a research project of hers intersected with his, and she realized he was up to something particularly reprehensible. She went to confront him, and wound up interrupting a ritual to enslave a sentient being and drain its power for his own purposes. She destroyed the soulcage he was using, but that left the spirit untethered and unable to maintain itself.”

She looked over to Sylvanas, to make sure she had gotten it right, and got a small nod. Lireesa was frozen stock still, barely breathing.

“That being would have died, faded away, since it couldn’t return home or remain in that state. So Sylvanas used her own heart to anchor it here. And then, I assume, she fled, since she had made a dangerous and influential magister very angry.”

“He did what? _You_ did what?” Lireesa spat out. Then, with the anger draining away to leave heartbreak behind, “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have...”

“I ask you to consider what it means, for a person’s heart to no longer be in their own possession. I think it will make more sense when you have heard the rest,” Jaina explained delicately.

“She always does that. Wants to skip the full story and then hurry up to have an opinion,” Sylvanas complained with laughing eyes.

Lireesa glared, and did not quite manage the humor part.

“I wouldn’t push it, Sylvanas. You might be right, but it’s also true that this story would be much shorter if one week into it Dar’khan had been stuck so full of arrows he could be rolled out a window. Which is what would have happened, if your mother had found out about it.” She had met Lireesa Windrunner one time, for an hour, and yet despite the brevity of their acquaintance this was something she had no doubt about. That was one scary woman.

“Yes, dear,” Sylvanas sighed.

Jaina turned to Lireesa, expecting to get a laugh out of it. What she found was the older elf looking at her, overflowing with guilt. Given her now substantial experience with Windrunner dysfunction, she could guess what those thoughts were about: how undeserved this treatment was, how she had failed to earn the kindness of it.

Perhaps it wasn’t earned, but it was true nonetheless that Jaina liked Lireesa Windrunner. She felt like some strange fusion of her own parents come to life, her father the lifetime navy man, and her stern, sharp mother. The similarities to Sylvanas were striking too, tugging at her heart every time they made an appearance.

Jaina gave her the gentlest grin before continuing.

“Come on. Let me tell you a story, about how a Kul Tiran merchant’s daughter was cursed by the Witch of the Waste and wound up in a magical moving castle.”

* * *

(okay that was the end of the fic, but I can’t resist so here are two little outtakes for you all)

* * *

Lireesa hovered in the doorway, looking back and forth between her daughter and Jaina.

“Thank you very much for inviting me.”

“Thank Jaina,” Sylvanas said with a grin.

“I know it. I assume you’re smart enough to marry her?” Lireesa asked sternly.

Sylvanas sputtered and went red.

“We’re engaged,” Jaina answered.

“Congratulations. I hope that you’ll…” she started, then trailed off with a nervousness that looked entirely foreign on the Ranger General.

“Of course you’ll be invited! We haven’t even set a date yet.” Jaina somehow guessed, plowing through the awkwardness.

Lireesa looked deeply moved, even more so than when Jaina told her how she had stabbed the Witch of the Waste with a big heavy dagger.

“You protected my daughter, and kept your word. I am in your debt, Jaina Proudmoore.”

“I don’t want any debts. We have all lost enough family to know the value of the ones still here,” she said, and opened her arms.

It took a moment, but the tall, statuesque elf walked into the embrace, pulling Jaina tight against her front. Sylvanas joined in too, arms over both their shoulders, and the three of them pretended no one was crying.

* * *

Jaina had just fastened her white veil, pushing the dainty fabric back so it draped over her braided hair rather than in front of her face, when she heard a knock on the door. She turned from the mirror and leaned into the hallway to look for Sylvanas.

“Were we expecting anyone else? I thought all the guests had already arrived!” she shouted.

Sylvanas flew down the stairs in a thunder of footsteps, looking resplendent in knee high boots with dark-stained deerskin trousers and robes so elegant and well styled she would be at home in any royal palace in the world.

“Maybe a party crasher. If Kael’thas shows up anyway even though I very specifically didn’t invite him…”

Jaina put a hand on her arm. “Let’s go see before we start worrying.”

They went down to the kitchen together, throwing open the door ready for just about anything. The person on the other side of the threshold was not at all what they expected: impossibly tall, with wings that would barely fit through the door, and covered all over in gleaming metallic armor.

The being ducked down, seeming to shrink a little, until they could fit.

“Greetings, Jaina. Sylvanas. I’ve been sent by a mutual friend to represent her during the festivities,” said a female voice that somehow resonated with the sound of windchimes.

“Eyir sent you?” Jaina asked, clapping with excitement. “How is she?”

“Queen Eyir fares very well,” the tall warrior said, bowing slightly.

“ _Queen_ Eyir?” Jaina looked at Sylvanas. Sylvanas looked at Jaina.

“I’ve been given permission to stay afterwards should you wish it, as well. She said the two of you would need assistance staying out of trouble.”

Sylvanas laughed, and Jaina sighed.

“Can I ask your name,” Sylvanas said, smiling her most charming smile.

“Annhylde, my lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied there is one more outtake:  
> All the Val’kyr: Hey boss why are you wearing that weird ugly necklace all the time now?  
> Eyir: My friend gave it to me, so you all can go FUCK YOURSELVES.
> 
> Other story notes: Annhylde tells Sylvanas a magic marriage way to tie her and Jaina's lifespans together, and they annoy the world together for hundreds more years. One day while in Quel'thalas a young Valeera tries to pickpocket them, not knowing who they are. Sylvanas and Jaina find her extremely entertaining and make her their 'apprentice' despite the fact that she has zero magical ability. Valeera comes up with increasingly outrageous ways to fake magic spells for several months before eventually realizing she has been adopted. 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://ladyptarmigan.tumblr.com/), I've also written other stuff for different fandoms (dragon prince, spop, supercorp) so check it out if you liked this fic.
> 
> Thank you for reading this fic, and coming with me on this fun journey!!!!!!!!!


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